


Flight Paths Home

by SKayLanphear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Confessions, Crime Fighting, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Romance, Secret Identity, Slow Build, Superheroes, casdean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKayLanphear/pseuds/SKayLanphear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean are roommates, neither one of them aware that the other is secretly flying around the city in the guise of a superhero saving innocent lives–even if they do regularly stitch each other up. Cas is quite convinced he’s in love with Dean however, yet Dean is interested in someone else. Someone he “works with.” Someone that later comes crashing through his window with a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flight Paths Home: Part 1

Maybe it was cliché, but there wasn't much Cas could do about it. Rather, he'd learned to embrace it, if only because there was little else in his life worth holding onto. He'd grown up reading Superhero comics—Batman, Spiderman, Superman (one of his personal favorites)—and looking up to them had been one of the few ways he'd been able to get through. And how he'd learned why having a secret identity was so important.

He liked Superman the best because, though he was fictional, it was to whom he related the most. Not necessarily because they shared similar abilities or physical traits. Rather, it was because Cas related to his backstory, or liked to think he did. Superman was different, had come from another world, and sometimes Cas wondered if he was like that too. If, somewhere out there, others like him existed, or had. He didn't know how to go about finding out, but he'd take advantage of the gifts he'd inherited. He'd use them as best he could to protect those weaker than himself. The humans, with whom he lived in secrecy, and who he adored unconditionally despite their differences.

Well, some of them.

"You're late," that taunting voice carved into his ears, Cas scowling as he fluttered around to see a familiar shape rising up from the roof of one of New York City's tallest skyscrapers. Wings flapping, Cas pursed his lips, arms crossing over his chest.

"Who said I was coming to help in the first place?"

"Shadow Wing, Shadow Wing, c'mon, don't be like that," the other man laughed, the sound muffled by the mask covering his entire head. "Just because you didn't get here fast enough to clean up the mess. Don't worry, we had it under control."

"I'm completely convinced," Cas, Shadow Wing as the public called him, replied, actively observing the shattered chunks of road beneath them, police lights flashing in attempts to ward off traffic. "Why don't you try  _not_  destroying the city once in a while though, Morganite. New tactics can be refreshing."

"Collateral damage," he waved it off flippantly, the slight glow of his hands lighting up the night air. "Like you haven't taken out a few things throwing around baddies."

"I try to avoid it, if at all possible."

" _Are you two arguing? Again?"_ It was the voice of Emerald, Morganite's partner and, from what Cas could deduce based on how they worked and spoke to one another, his brother. Together, they made up what the press called the Divine Duo. They were psychics of sorts, or so Cas had reasoned over the years. Emerald—dressed fittingly in a tight suit of green with golden accents—was an "internal psychic." He had the power to read minds (except for Cas's, thank goodness. Another one of his many defenses apparently), telepathically move things, control people, speak to them via mental projection (as he'd just done), and Cas had even heard the two speaking about an ability that allowed him to see visions. Which was how Cas supposed they sometimes beat him to certain crime scenes. Only sometimes, however. When Emerald utilized his abilities—at least when it came to moving objects—they tended to glow a light, bright green color.

Unlike Morganite. If Emerald was an "internal" psychic, then Morganite was the opposite. Like his brother, he had the ability to move objects, but Cas had noticed that it worked in a different fashion. Emerald seemed to have control via his brain, somehow, whereas Morganite was more of a physical being. When he moved objects, he gestured with his arms, as if his abilities were outward. Which would coincide with the rest of what he could do. In a matter of speaking, Morganite had control of external energies. He could shape and warp objects, project force fields, even occasionally create replicas of certain simple items. Mostly, however, he used his ability to control "energy" (Cas didn't know any other way to describe it) to create lethal beams that varied in size dependent on his preferences. Sometimes they acted like whips, sometimes he created small, zinging shards or bullets. Sometimes sheets, sometimes balls. Any simple shape, really. Cas supposed his force fields were made in much the same manner. And always they were a very light, glowing pink color. His uniform as well, tight and accented with silver.

Somehow, his powers also granted him the ability to fly. Whenever he was up in the air, his body glowed with that light pink outline, Cas supposing he was manipulating his own physical being somehow to accomplish it. Occasionally Emerald flew too, but it seemed to be more challenging for him than his brother. He was all mental—telepathy, as he never glowed while doing it—so perhaps that was more difficult.

Like Cas, they kept their real identities hidden behind full facial masks. Theirs reminded Cas somewhat of the fictional Spiderman's, stretched over their noses with gold and silver eyes that allowed them to see, yet others couldn't peer in.

Cas had something similar, though the location of his eyes wasn't visible from the outside. Just a black pallet, the only thing giving away that he even had a face at all being how his nose protruded from the front. That, and the black hood slouching over his shoulders. Though he'd like for his whole body to be covered, his giant black wings hardly allowed for as much. Rather, his matching suit revealed his back, coming around like a halter-top turtleneck that attached to his mask. It was tight, like Morganite's and Emerald's outfits, and his black boots strapped around his thighs. Similar to how his gloves reached along his upper arms, muscular shoulders revealed.

Fastened to Cas's waist was a long, silver blade. He called it an angel blade, but, really, he didn't know what it was. He'd had it since before he could remember, learning early on how valuable it was. Able to cut through anything, he'd been saved by its edge on many occasions. He supposed, much like his wings and his "super strength," he'd inherited it from wherever he'd come from.

"We're not arguing," Morganite sighed. "We're just… talking."

" _You guys never just 'talk.' It always escalates. If you both weren't fighting for the same things, you'd probably be enemies._ "

"Me and Shadow Wing?" Morganite "pffted" in doubt. "C'mon Em. We're, like, best friends."

"Don't flatter yourself." Cas rolled his eyes despite the fact that Morganite couldn't see. Keeping himself suspended, his wings flapped, stirring the night air.

"That hurts," Morganite's glowing hand went to his chest. "Really. You cut me deep Shadow. I'm telling you, if we all worked together, we'd be much better off."

"I work alone," Cas said for what seemed like the billionth time. He couldn't afford to reveal his identity. It was too dangerous, both for himself and what few people he valued.

"Doesn't that ever get lonely?" Morganite floated a little closer to him. "C'mon. I'll tell you my name if you tell me yours." Cas imagined that, if Morganite had eyebrows, they'd be waggling suggestively.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he flapped back some. "I have business to attend to. You two have a good rest of the night." He turned, ready to fly off and pausing only quickly to look over his shoulder. "Try not to destroy any more of the city."

He was flying off before Morganite could get in a proper rebuke.

Soaring up above the city, his wings flapped silently against the night air. The sparkling lights of the city drew some of his attention, before he then glanced up to the sky. He couldn't see the stars very well, not with the glare of New York fogging the darkness. Sometimes, he flew up as high as he could to get a better look. He wondered what was out there, if one of those little specks was where he'd come from. But the city, and the people, and his self-proclaimed responsibility, always drew him back.

He didn't have the time to look at the stars that night. He had to go home.

He'd been out, listening in on police radios and getting updates via his phone, since nearly five that afternoon, after he'd gotten out of work. The case he'd come upon Morganite and Emerald dealing with had related to a few crime bosses he'd been tracking for a while. It didn't bother him that the other two had beat him to the punch—they were on the same side, strictly speaking—but he didn't like the pattern the criminals were working in. Something was coming, someone was planning something big, but he didn't know what.

In any case, he'd gotten no closer to finding out that night, and it was nearing six in the morning. If at all possible, he tried to retain a schedule. Mostly for the sake of his roommate. Not because being out all night somehow impeded on the other man's goings on, but because Cas preferred to have the apartment to himself after coming in following a round through the city. His roommate was rarely in before seven, so if Cas got home before then, he'd be better off.

Their apartment wasn't in the best part of the city, the fading glimmer leading Cas home. He was thankful for the lack of light however. It allowed him to drop down onto the balcony unnoticed. Pushing his way silently in through the unlocked doors, he glanced quickly around to make absolutely sure he was alone before clipping them shut again. Slipping silently through the dark apartment, he was soon shutting himself securely up in his bedroom.

Flicking on the light, he glanced quickly to the window to make sure the drapes were pulled closed before pushing back his hood. Yanking off his black mask, he took a deep breath of air and ran his hand through his flattened black hair.

Not wanting to be walked in on by his roommate coming home, Cas forced his attention to what was important. That was, his wings. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture and, like he had hundreds of times before, began to mold the muscles.

Like a well-oiled machine, the tendons and bones protruding from his back began to fold in on themselves. Curling and retracting, the feathers shrank back into tiny seeds littering the bones. Bones that tightened and they were mere twigs. All at once, his skin sucked it in—until all that was remaining were two closed scars beside his shoulder blades.

Rolling his shoulders, Cas quickly adjusted to the change and was unbuckling the neck strap of his suit and sliding it down his body within the moment. Zipping down the boots and the gloves, he stood in only his briefs, his muscular body exposed for only a moment. He exchanged the ensemble for a pair of baggy pants and a long sleeved shirt that was probably two sizes too big. Adding a pair of black-rimmed glasses he didn't actually have to wear, and the disguise was complete.

He was Castiel Novak, early twenties, earned his living at the flower shop three streets over. Simple, and certainly not the type that flew out by night to chase criminals.

Picking up his suit, he stored in in the locked chest in his closet before heading out into the main part of the apartment. Two hours and he'd have to be to work, which was fine as far as he was concerned. Cas didn't sleep (unless he was severely injured or exhausted), which meant he could get away with his schedule. Doing his duty when others thought he was asleep and working his job otherwise.

Going to the kitchen, he flipped the switch to light the overhanging fluorescents. He established that all was in regular order before heading to the fridge. The apartment wasn't anything spectacular—exposed concrete walls and supports, foggy windows, only two bedrooms and a bathroom aside from the main area. But they'd decorated as best they could with used furniture, cheap dishes, and street art. It was home, in any case, and Cas even brought home flowers from work on occasion. He sat them in front of the glass so their colors came out in the sunlight.

He didn't know if his roommate appreciated his attempts, but he hoped so.

Just as Cas was sitting down at the table with his bowl of cereal, the sliding front door slid noisily aside. A single figure walked in.

A man, his roommate—Dean Winchester.

"Morning, Cas," he said as he slid the door closed behind him. The exchange was typical, Cas simply nodding as he returned to his cereal. Looking rather worn and tired—as he always did when he came home—Dean made his way over to the table and pulled out a chair across from Cas before bending down and beginning to untie is boots.

Cas watched him, taking in his hunched-over profile. His mussed, dirty-blonde hair and screen of freckles. His leather jacket was old and worn, and even though his jeans were below the table-line, Cas knew they were ripped and holey. Still, it made no difference to Cas.

Because when Dean finally sighed and leaned back, boots removed, and looked to Cas, he was as breathless as always.

Maybe Cas was a little in love with Dean. Maybe he was a  _lot_  in love with him. He'd stopped trying to measure it years ago. They'd moved in together five years prior, strangers then who'd made it clear on both sides that they had their own lives and preferred others stay out of it. It was their respect for each other's boundaries that had eventually allowed for a shallow friendship to form. And Cas's feelings had then run away from him.

Not only was Dean beautiful—with his big, green eyes, and long lashes, and perfectly full lips—but he was sweet. He liked to put on a rough façade, but Cas had learned to look beyond the cocky smiles to see the beauty behind. To see the man that had once helped a woman carry groceries up seventeen flights of stairs when they'd been shopping for food (with food stamps) one weekend. And the guy who had bought a group of ten elementary kids, with dirt marks on their faces and clothes that were two small, each an ice cream cone simply because he'd seen them loitering around the shop. He'd used the last ten dollars he'd told Cas he'd have to make due for food.

Cas had made sure to get enough for them both that week.

Yes, Cas was hopelessly in love with Dean. He was one of the few people that Cas cared about, and one of the biggest reasons he never gave his real identity out to anyone.

If the wrong person knew who he was, where he lived—with  _whom_  he lived—then Dean would be in danger. Cas would have to leave. And that was probably one of the most heartbreaking things he could fathom.

"Damn, I'm tired," Dean said, flashing Cas a quick, dazzling smile as he leaned back in the rickety dining chair. "But here you are, up and ready for work already. Flowers aren't even awake yet."

"Someone has to wake them up," Cas smiled just barely, lips only.

"And I'll be  _going_  to sleep." Dean stretched his arms, raising them above his head, which was when Cas saw it—the streak of blood dripping down the back of his upper arm.

"You're bleeding," he said in alarm, spoon plopping down into his cereal.

"Oh, yeah," Dean sighed, trying to look down the back of his arm at the wound. "Got nicked at work." They both heard the silent "again," but neither dared actually voice it. Cas didn't know what Dean did, working the late night hours that he did, and it'd been made pretty clear that he couldn't ask. Just as Dean couldn't ask about him. However, it wasn't out of the ordinary for Dean to walk in bruised or bleeding or even, on occasion, shot. Yet he refused to seek medical attention.

Sometimes Cas crept closer to the idea, wondering. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered that Dean was probably involved in illegal dealings. That he was, more than likely, a criminal. Sometimes Cas wondered if, one night, he'd be doing his rounds and suddenly Dean would be there. Dean would be the one he was leaving out for the police.

Or worse.

The idea was nauseating.

"Here," Cas pushed back his seat, standing before going to the bathroom. Pulling out their first aid kit, he was soon back at the table, Dean already rolling up his sleeve. They'd developed a routine when it came to injuries. Neither one wanted to draw attention to such things, whatever their reasons may be, so they'd come to helping each other—if only out of necessity.

Stringing the needle with the correct kind of thread they'd bought long before, Cas surveyed the damage. It was a clean cut, likely done by some kind of blade. A knife maybe. And as he began to clean the wound, he worried again about what Dean was always getting himself into.

He wondered if Dean was similarly concerned about him.

"How was your evening besides this?" Cas asked in his quietly joking manner, slowly and methodically beginning to stitch Dean's skin back together. If he did this well enough, it wouldn't even leave a scar.

"Oh, the usual," Dean laughed, Cas wholly convinced the conversation would end there. As it always did when they spoke of real life. They could chat about television, and the media, and other light topics. But anything bigger and polite questioning was as far as they got. Which was why Cas was surprised when Dean continued. "Actually, I've kind of got this problem."

Cas blinked, trying to think of a response. "O-oh, really?"

"Yeah," Dean sat back in the chair, Cas still bent over some as he put the back of his arm back together. "You're a pretty levelheaded guy, so…" Dean shook his head. "Well, anyway, this is the thing." He took a deep breath, as if he needed to prepare himself to talk about it. "There's this… girl… that I work with. I mean, it's not like we work 'together' together. She does her thing and I do mine, but anyway. So, this girl, she's… well, she's pretty great, to be honest."

"Oh…" Cas's response was quiet, his lips pursing as he ignored the way his chest tightened.

"I've kind of… liked her for a long time." Dean's voice sounded almost dry, as if this were difficult to talk about, and Cas made a pointed attempt to be invested. "She's just… incredible, really. Just how selfless she is, and she cares so much about what she does. And the way she  _moves_." Dean sounded completely infatuated. Cas was pretty sure his whole heart was being ripped from his chest, all in a matter of one conversation. "But I'm pretty sure she hates my guts."

"I doubt that," Cas said almost defensively. Of what, however, he didn't quite know. His own feelings, maybe.

"What do you mean?" Dean looked up at him, Cas only quickly flicking his eyes up before focusing back down on the cut.

"You're a hard person to hate, Dean."

"Ha, thanks," Dean rolled his pretty eyes. "Well, I think she might. I try to, ya know, be smooth with her, but she just keeps rejecting me. I can't figure her out."

"What do you mean by 'smooth?'"

"I just, ya know, flirt, that kind of thing. Or try to."

"And she doesn't flirt back?" How could someone see Dean Winchester and not flirt back? Cas felt practically personally insulted.

"No. She usually just leaves."

"Maybe she doesn't realize what you're doing."

"Maybe…" Dean didn't sound certain.

"Why don't you try being direct?" Cas was tying the string, nearly finished with the stitches. "Just tell her how you feel. The most she can say is 'no.'" Cas told himself the same thing every day, but still he did nothing. It was so much more complicated for him than that however. For one, Dean didn't even appear to like men. And for two, well, he was clearly into someone else. Plus, there was the whole other identity, putting him in danger thing.

"That's what my brother keeps telling me," Dean huffed. "I was hoping you'd have better advice."

"I don't think there is any better advice," Cas reasoned, leaning up once he'd finished. "That's… all there is."

"Maybe…" Dean sounded deflated and Cas wanted to help, but he also wanted to get as far away as possible. He'd never heard Dean talk about interest in other people before. Not romantically. There'd never been any girlfriends, or dates, and that solitary lifestyle had comforted Cas. If only because then he could have his own feelings and not worry about the rejection that would never actually happen.

But now Dean was talking about some girl, and Cas's stomach was churning with things he'd never felt before. At least in relation to Dean. Uncertainty, panic. Jealousy. But mostly just hurt. He knew it wasn't justified, but he couldn't help it.

He blinked his eyes some in order to hold everything back, heading around to the kitchen sink to wash the needle.

Dean was standing in the same moment, making his way over to one of their sofas before plopping down again. The television was speaking a moment later, Cas knowing without a doubt that Dean was watching the morning news. Because Dean liked to know what was going on in the world, and that was one of the most amazing things about him.

Cas gritted his teeth as he wiped the needle far more than he actually needed to.

"I feel like every time I turn this thing on, that Morganite guy is on the news," Dean said once Cas was back at the kitchen table, replacing their supplies in the first aid kit.

"He does seem to be a bit of a showoff."

"Ah, that's not what I meant." Dean chuckled, Cas looking up only quickly, but Dean was still watching the news. Where, the cameras panning upward, Morganite's glowing outline was clearly visible up above the street. It looked like coverage from only a few hours before, or so Cas deduced based on the location and the state of the city streets.

"I guess I don't know what you mean then," Cas replied, trying not to sound too short. It wasn't Dean's fault his whole body wanted to run to his bedroom, curl up, and die. It was his own fault. He knew what he was, what he did. That should have been reason enough not to fall in the first place.

"I guess I just mean he's really visible. Can't hide out in the darkness like Shadow Wing."

"He seems to enjoy the attention."

Dean scoffed, finally turning to look at Cas. "What makes you say that?" Cas shrugged, glancing back down to the first aid kit as Dean's eyes narrowed. "I'm serious," Dean continued. "You're clearly not his biggest fan. What don't you like about him?"

"It's not that I don't like him," Cas admitted. "He's just… arrogant. Nothing about him seems real. I mean, he's obviously a selfless person, and he does a lot of good things, but… I don't know." Cas shrugged, finally returning the kit to the bathroom before coming back to see Dean still watching him.

"You really think he's arrogant?"

"I don't know," Cas paused, since Dean clearly wanted to continue the conversation and Cas would do anything for Dean no matter how much it hurt. "It's not like I actually know the guy."

"Ha, yeah, right…" Dean's gaze flicked down to the couch cushions.

"I don't really think anything of him, to be honest," Cas shrugged. "He's just a superhero." He didn't have the care to consider Morganite much. Or Emerald. They did their jobs and sometimes it was lucrative to work together. They were colleagues.

"'Just' a Superhero?" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "That's kind of an understatement." Cas smiled softly, deciding to simply admire the beauty of Dean's good humor than comment. "You're really not interested in them? I mean, I get if Morganite isn't your cup of tea, but there's still Emerald. And Shadow Wing. You have to like Shadow Wing."

"Why?" Cas forced a chuckle.

"Uh, because he's amazing," Dean was leaning against the back of the couch then. "He's got fuckin' wings, and super strength, and a badass sword. How can you  _not_  like that?"

While the flattery was nice, Cas was quickly deciding it only made the whole situation worse. He wished he could go back and say, "no, he didn't want to hear about Dean's day." And his "girl."

"Shadow Wing is my favorite." Dean sounded almost offended that Cas, seemingly, didn't share in his sentiments.

"Well, I'm sure he'd be glad to know. I'm just not interested in superheroes."

"I don't even understand how I can be friends with you now," Dean said flatly, Cas smiling softly again. "You're dead to me."

"And you're a nerd."

"Wait, wait, wait, I  _know_  you like superheroes. I've seen all those Superman comics in your room. Are you telling me you like that, but you don't like the actual, real life superheroes that we have here? That  _actually_  exist?"

"I never said I didn't like them. Just that I wasn't interested."

Dean was clearly still disapproving, and Cas almost laughed. Almost. But then Dean was "gahing" at him, like he was beyond help, and waving him toward the door.

"Just go plant your flowers or whatever it is you do, you silly man." Dean turned back to the television, where they were still covering Morganite and Emerald's escapade. Watching him for a second longer, Cas ignored how his heart pulled toward Dean, instead forcing it to tear as he grabbed his wallet from the counter and headed toward the door. Offering a light farewell, Dean responded halfheartedly and with a good deal of sarcasm as Cas walked out.

It wasn't until he was down the five flights of stairs and beside his locked bike in the hallway that Cas took the time he needed to really breathe. Leaning on the handlebars, he closed his eyes and willed his pounding heart to slow. There was no reason for him to be upset. He'd never intended to pursue Dean and it was only logical that his roommate show romantic interest in others. Women, as it were. He didn't belong to Cas, a certainty that he'd always told himself.

He'd just been on the precipice for so long. Ignorant of Dean's actions beyond himself. Seeing the reality of it all was just a beating he'd have to get over. Like all the others.

His lifestyle wasn't conducive to relationships anyway. It wasn't safe.

Forcing that thought into his head over and over again, Cas unlocked his bike before easily picking it up and hauling it out the door. Within moments he was pedaling down the street, weaving in and out of traffic as he pushed himself to work—hoping all the while that it'd be a busy day.

Thankfully, with it being so close to Valentine's Day, there were huge numbers of orders to be dealt with and arrangements to be made. Cas spent most of the workday cutting stems in his dirty green apron, which was more of a relief than anything. It distracted, and that was really, above all else, what he needed. It wasn't until they were nearing closing time—at around quarter after five—that things finally slowed. Or seemed to.

Cas was standing behind the counter, arranging flower labels, when it happened. A man, dressed in the comically stereotypical black with a ski mask, walked in. He wasted no time in pulling a gun from his jacket and threatening the three clerks working inside.

Blinking in surprise, Cas slowly raised his hands, Hannah and Meg, the two girls on duty with him, doing much the same.

"Money, all of it. Out. Now." Three more similarly dressed accomplices filed in after that, each armed and spreading out around the small shop. Cas pursed his lips, internally cursing. He didn't wear his costume when he was doing civilian work for a reason. One, so no one would accidentally see it, and two, because if he did happen to hear about something going down, he needed a reason why he couldn't rush out and do something. He had to make a living somehow, and that meant being disciplined and acknowledging that it wasn't always his responsibility to do something.

However, getting robbed by a bunch of joker thieves was practically insulting. Yet he couldn't just bust out his wings or throw the counter at them either. He had to uphold his identity at all costs. Unless lives were truly threatened, then he really had no choice but to hand over the money. It was the wiser decision all the way around.

"Let's go, four-eyes," one of the men waved his gun in Cas's direction. "Empty that register!" Still quite annoyed about the whole ordeal, Cas slowly lowered his hands to the drawer before popping it open. With a click and a ping, the cash was exposed, Hannah doing much the same with the register on the other side of the counter. The two girls were clearly pale and scared, even Meg, who was the a-typical tough-girl. They did as they were told with little hesitation.

"Put it in there," the man previously threatening him approached Cas's side of the counter, tossing a small duffel beside the register. Pulling open the bag, Cas began to put what little cash was in the register inside, the man watching him the whole time. "Is that really all that's in there?" The gun was pointing dangerously close to Cas's face. "You guys have been busy all day! There's more! Where is it?!"

The robber was right. Cas had only cleared the registers an hour before, taking the funds to the back as he did every day. All that was remaining was what he'd left for change and what they'd made since.

Cas tried to decide what to say. The two girls both had guns aimed in their directions as well, their worried, wide eyes swaying Cas's decision.

"It's in the back," he admitted. "I took it back just a little while ago." Though their faces weren't completely visible, Cas could see the intruders deliberating. He chose to add, "I'm the only one who knows the combination for the lock." It wasn't true—both girls had access to the cash safe as well—but he hoped they wouldn't give away what he was trying to do.

"You two," the lead robber, or so it would seem, gestured to two others before refocusing on Cas. "Take him to the back and get the rest of it." Nodding, the two rounded the counter, one of them taking Cas by the arm and forcefully spinning him to march him through the back door. Cas allowed it, his mind buzzing as the two armed men "escorted" him.

There were two layers to the back room. The first was the greenhouse where the flowers were kept. The second was the office, where the money was stored. Cas motioned to the second door across the greenhouse, one of the robbers sighing as they pushed him between the rows of plants.

Cas was thankful for the distance however. It'd muddle the noise.

Taking quick stock of the situation, he had a plan ready to set in motion just as they were walking through the second doorway.

He had to get this done as quickly and silently as possible. No time for theatrics. The risks posed to Meg and Hannah if the guns went off were too great.

The doorway was small, and the man holding tight to Cas's arm had to slide slightly in front of him in order to enter first. Which gave Cas the leverage to spin out of his hold.

He caught the wide eyes of the second assailant, the only thing able to give away his surprise as Cas easily reached up for his gun. Or, rather, the man's wrist. Twisting it, he felt the skin stretching as the bones cracked, the man releasing a guttural scream as the gun fell from his hand. Catching it with his open hold, Cas dropped the man's wrist as he went to turn back to the first, who was aiming and ready to shoot as Cas whipped around to face him.

Cas had twisted the gun in his hand so as to utilize the butt, and before the trigger of the other could be pulled on him, Cas was thwacking the first man in the temple, sending him tumbling into the side of the doorway. Clearly dizzy, he slumped to the ground, dropping his own gun, which Cas picked up with his other free hand.

Returning his attention to the second man, he did a swift roundhouse, bashing him in the side of the head. Knocked away, he careened face-first into one of the flower tables, the heavy wooden top catching him before sending him collapsing to the ground.

Flipping the guns around right, Cas aimed them both to either side—to the two men—but was soon satisfied to find they were both out cold.

He didn't have extra strength for nothing, and he hadn't even tried that hard.

"Well, I guess you've got this under control." Startled, Cas turned back toward the shop door, guns raised and ready. "Whoa, let's not do anything rash, alright?"

"Morganite," Cas said dumbly, blinking a few times before finally allowing the guns to fall to his sides. He quickly reminded himself that he wasn't in costume—that this man thought him a mere civilian—and tried to adjust his behavior to such. However, he'd just taken out two armed robbers, alone, so it was hard to totally pretend at the guise of being a frumpy flower shop worker. Perhaps it was better to play at some middle ground.

"Gotta say, didn't expect to come in here and find this," Morganite's pale pink and silver arms crossed over his chest. "You don't exactly look the type."

"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover," Cas replied, wondering if perhaps he should add that he was a martial arts master, but decided it was probably better to remain ambiguous.

"Clearly," Morganite laughed, looking him up and down again. Cas felt his nerves spike. He didn't want to be found out.

"You really come here just for this?" Cas tried to divert the subject, gesturing to the robbers. "Seems a bit below your pay grade."

"I was in the area," Morganite explained, his hand glowing as he reached up and zapped the guns from Cas's hands—quite to Cas's wide-eyed alarm. "I know a buddy who works around here. Wanted to make sure he was alright. Emerald picked up the waves of panic coming from the two chicks." He tapped his head, as if to reference his brother's abilities.

Which was when Cas really did start to panic. "Oh… I see…" If Emerald was nearby, then he was probably spreading his mind out, probing the area. Or had been. And since he couldn't crack into Cas's head, he probably wouldn't even know he was there. If he showed himself to Emerald—if Emerald tried to read his mind and couldn't—his identity would be exposed.

"Funny, he didn't say anything about your reaction." Morganite wasn't stupid, Cas pursing his lips. He was making a somewhat personal implication, which could easily lead to suspicion.

"I stay calm about most things."

"Oh yeah?"

He was saved by the sound of sirens outside the shop.

"Well, that's my cue to go," Morganite mock-saluted him before raising the two guns he'd forcefully taken from Cas's grasp. "I'll leave these just here. Don't need ya shootin' me before I get on out." He set them down on one of the flower tables, Cas understanding his logic. If there was one thing everybody wanted, it was the real identities of the city's superheroes. Cas tended to disarm civilians too, if he had to stay and do something. The last thing any of them needed was a trigger-happy fan to shoot them on their way out and leave them stranded for the police.

Skipping easily to the side, Morganite did a little leap and was soon airborne. He flew right through the ceiling, warping it to allow passage. Cas watched for a moment, just until the police came barreling in. At which point he was forced to raise his hands yet again.

It was some hours before he was finally allowed to go home. He'd had to explain what had happened numerous times, and even gone through some investigatory questions down at the police station. But when all was over, he was finally up in his bedroom slipping on his personal uniform. Once his hood and mask were in place, he pushed his wings out from hiding and took off from the balcony into the setting sun. Armed with his angel blade, he headed up toward the Empire State Building. Perching at the top—where he liked most to be—he folded his wings up against his back and pulled his phone from the leather case he had attached to his belt, tuning into the incoming news about recent crime. He also focused his sensitive ears on the frequency that police sirens made, ever ready.

The first hours of the night he spent circling the city, only intervening when the police seemed to be having trouble. Shadow Wing was a creature of the night—only revealing himself when he felt it was absolutely necessary and vanishing just as quickly—unlike Morganite, who tended to flaunt himself before dashing off. Emerald was more subdued, but generally if his brother was around, then he was lurking visibly in the background or atop some building somewhere. Yet very few aside from Cas seemed to notice him. Cas had his suspicions that the psychic tended to play at mental games, making himself invisible to anyone who might see him by somehow erasing himself from their minds. Obviously, this didn't work on Cas, which was why he was always able to spot him.

It was nearly two when he got an interesting report across the emergency line of his phone. A chase downtown, those involved both armed and dangerous, and suspected of being possible gang members. Wondering if perhaps this was part of the same string of gang activities he'd dealt with recently, Cas flew off, easily darting between the buildings under he was directly above the chase.

Two cars, one straight truck, and four flashing cops, all of them screeching down the city streets. Tucking in his wings, Cas soured down into the fray, releasing the appendages again as he landed atop the trailer of the straight truck. Wings tucked once more, he easily toed over the top of the moving vehicle until he was at the cab. Supposing there was little hope for the truck at these speeds with a criminal behind the wheel, Cas slipped his angel blade from its holster before carving easily through the top of the truck. There were no gunshots fired, much to his surprise, and as he finally tore a hole in the top and peered in, he understood why.

The man at the wheel was alone, tape over his mouth and across his hands, leaving him strapped to the steering wheel. He glanced up at Cas in both horror and relief, but was soon focused again on the road.

"Stop the vehicle," Cas demanded, but the driver only shook his head, making a helpless groaning noise and swerving dangerously around a curve. Holding himself steady, Cas easily came to a conclusion on the situation. The only reason this man would participate in a crime like this was if he was threatened somehow, and based on his hands being taped down, it likely wasn't blackmail. Probably something physical, like a gun to is head.

Backing up a crouched step, Cas peered around the truck, eventually finding himself examining the sides. It was then that he saw it, the flashing light emanating from beneath the footboard on the right side. Jumping down to it, Cas took hold of the mirror for leverage, glancing in through the passenger side window before nodding encouragingly to the driver. Wings scrunched up against the side of the moving vehicle, he turned back just in time to see Morganite's pink glow stop one of the other running cars right in its tracks, his power holding the tires before they were forcefully removed from the vehicle. There was a slight flash where the doors were bent in, probably breaking them, before Morganite dropped the car again, likely locking the driver inside and for the police to investigate. All of it happened in a matter of moments, the man behind it soon appearing as well.

Taking his chance, and for once thankful that Morganite was there, Cas reached down, yanked the flashing bomb from where it was strapped up under the truck, and tossed it to the other hero. It was detonating as he did, the bright explosion seeming immanent until a pink barrier flashed around it. Like a containment bubble, the bomb went off harmlessly inside, all orange and fiery, but harmless tucked in Morganite's shield.

The truck came to a screeching halt a moment later, be it because the driver knew he was safe or because he'd been shocked by the sight of the explosion outside his window. Propelled by the pressure, Cas shot to the side, his wings unfolding to catch him before casting him up into the darkness. Catching a draft, he allowed it to push him further up as he glanced down at the crime scene.

His attempts at trying to survey the situation didn't last long. Within but a few seconds, he caught site of the pink flash of Morganite streaking between the buildings, clearly in pursuit of something. Likely Emerald had managed to locate something pertinent to figuring out what was going on and so they were going after it. Tucking his wings, Cas spun easily, plummeting down before flapping out again. Straining the muscles protruding from his back, he surged forward, flitting in and out of the glaring lights of the city. Catching up to Morganite, he trailed some to the side, dropping down when Morganite dove onto the roof of an old warehouse.

How typical.

A moment later, Emerald walked out from behind a large chunk of metal chimney, how he got there a complete mystery to Cas. Together, the three of them stood silhouetted against the night sky, Cas waiting for some kind of cue to act.

He didn't have to wait long.

"You boys are so predictable." The voice was familiar, all of their attention snapping to the right as a single figure appeared out of the shadows. He was wearing a dapper suit and an arrogant smirk, a shot of yellow whiskey held lazily in his hands. "All I had to do was set up a simple car chase and here you are."

"Crowley," Morganite growled out, all of them familiar with the name as well as the villain's English accent. He was a notorious mobster, but none of the "heroes" had ever managed to catch him first hand. He'd always taunted them with recordings and letters, and every time he had shown his face, he'd somehow managed a slippery escape.

"How astute of you, Squirrel," he raised his glass in a toast. "Please, why don't you allow more of that aggressive testosterone to leak out." He took a drink, his other hand in his pocket.

Morganite snarled.

"If we're the ones you wanted, why didn't you just make it known," Cas cut in. "You didn't have to involve innocent people."

"Where's the fun in that?" Crowley paced shortly to one side, not at all fazed by their presence.

"What is it that you want then?" Emerald asked.

"Want? What I want is for the three of you to keep your noses out of my business." This piqued Cas's interest. "I've got a job I'm working on and you three keep getting in the way of my dealings. I lose too many more of my men to your metal bars and I'll have to forfeit my contract."

"Contract?" Cas latched onto the information immediately.

"Now don't you worry your wings about that, Sparkles," Crowley nodded toward him. "That's grown-up business. And you three," his voice deepened, putting the three on guard, "have been playing around in my way for a little too long."

It all happened very quickly then.

Crowley's hand was pulled from his pocket, which spurred Emerald to try and take action. Before he could try and get into Crowley's head however, the villain flicked his wrist and Emerald was sent flying backward. Colliding hard with the metal chimney, he left a gracious dent, both Cas and Morganite watching in surprise.

"Em!" Morganite almost looked as though he'd go to his fallen brother.

"You boys don't have any idea what you're dealing with." Gaping, Cas watched in shock as Crowley's eyes took on a red tinge. For a moment, he truly looked the demon her was. But then his finger was snapping and both Cas and Morganite twitched their attention to the rabid snaps and growls that were erupting from behind Crowley. Four pairs of glowing, red eyes soon crept up from the darkness, followed soon by bared, bloodied teeth and shaggy, smoking black coats of fur.

"Consider this a warning," were the final words Crowley uttered before he disappeared in a cloud of red smoke. The dogs—if that was even what they were—came barreling forward immediately after. Morganite bolted back, placing himself between the fangs and his unconscious brother, two of the animals coming after Cas in the same moment.

Lips pursing, Cas flared his wings before surging up off the roof. His assent was so violent that he left behind a cracking dent in the roof. Yet his flight had done little good. As if forming from darkness itself, the hounds were beside him, clouded and malformed, but snapping at him in the air. They rushed up beside him, airborne as Cas blinked in shock.

Quick to act, he pulled his angel blade from his belt, spinning the hilt in his hand as the first dog came at him. Using every bit of his strength, Cas gritted his teeth and swiped forward, expecting the blade to puncture some kind of physical bone and flesh. When the blade wisped easily through the coiling smoke however, he was abruptly at a loss.

The blade had done nothing, those otherworldly jaws still rushing toward him.

Before Cas could react, he felt those large fangs sinking into his arm, a yell of outrage ripping through his whole body as he raised his blade again and brought it down hard on the hound's head. That time he hit something, the dog yipping as the blade sank into some kind of sinewy flesh that Cas couldn't place.

His first failed attempt, however, had given the animals too much leverage. Though he'd taken down one, the other was on him, Cas's yell becoming a high pitched screech as teeth latched onto the base of his right wing. He knew the sound coming from his throat was inhuman, but he didn't care. The dog was ripping his feathers and skin, and crushing his bone. Acting purely on necessary defense, Cas propelled his body around sharply, tossing the hound off him even as he felt his wing tearing against his back. Blade in hand, he caught the thing by the throat as it flew by, dispatching it.

But even as the dogs vanished, Cas felt himself grappling at the air. His heart surged into his throat, his one good wing flapping in an attempt to make up for the injuries to the other. It wasn't enough however, Cas's breath catching as the air whipped by all around him.

He was falling, and bleeding, and there was no one he could call for help.

He was alone, the night folding in around him.

**oOo**

"I'm really worried, Sam," Dean was saying as he paced back and forth across his dinky apartment. "I mean, that screech fucking woke you up. And we couldn't find him anywhere. What if those things got him?" Outside, it was raining, Dean rubbing the bandage around his forearm—the one holding his phone—more so out of needing something to do than because it was bothering him. Sure, the bite hurt, but it wasn't proving to have any other adverse side effects.

"I understand that, but we looked all over the city after we killed those things. You know I can't sense him. What else do you want us to do?" Sam was home resting, Jessica taking care of him. Dean was supposed to be indulging in something similar, and even though his roommate didn't know who he was, he'd been hoping he'd be there to help patch him up. Despite it being four in the morning however, when Cas was usually sleeping, he wasn't there.

"Maybe I'll go out and look for him again," Dean muttered, looking to the window and glaring at the way the rain sheeted against the glass. "Where the hell is Cas?" As if he didn't have enough to worry about.

"Just calm down, alright?" Sam said. "Shadow Wing's been on his own a long time now. I'm sure he's fine. If something had happened to him, then someone probably would have… found a body or something."

"Gee, Sam, what a comfort." Dean hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but his brother was doing a piss-poor job easing his concerns.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Sam snapped. "Crowley caught us off-guard and-"

"What the hell was that?" Dean's questioned hissed into the phone, his eyes snapping to the foggy glass that led out onto his balcony. He could have sworn he'd seen something. Some kind of heavy shadow had flashed down from the roof. He took a single step forward, ignoring Sam's questioning on the other line.

A loud bang echoed around the apartment a second later, Dean dropping his phone and raising his hands defensively as the door swung harshly open. Wind and rain whipping in, Dean nearly sent an energy blast at the swelling outline framing the doorway.

But then it was falling forward, Dean making out dirtied, ruffled feathers as unsteady legs shook and collapsed. Despite an attempt to reach out and catch himself, Shadow Wing buckled forward onto the end table near the door, sending the lamp shattering to the floor as he landed on his knees.

Eyes wide, Dean tried to take in what was happening, but before he could consider comprehension, he saw the white sheen of bone surrounded in blood and torn skin sticking up out of Shadow Wing's back. His wing was twitching helplessly, his hands shaking as he scratched at the floor. Like a wounded animal, he fell fully to his side, his wing flapping helplessly as a guttural, animalistic whine echoed up from somewhere inside him.

He was in pain.

Incredible pain.

Sopping wet and dripping in blood, he clawed at the ground, gestures desperate and searching as he tried to move across the apartment. What he was looking to do, Dean had no idea. But his injury was causing his entire body to twitch dangerously, forcing him onto his side despite how he tried to rise.

Dean had to do something. Anything. It didn't matter how Shadow Wing had managed to find him, that wasn't important. In that moment, Dean knew he needed to help him.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean started quietly, slowly approaching the other man. "Calm down, alright? I'll help you. You got to let me help you." He tried to get in beside Shadow, but those wings were flapping wildly, hardly allowing him to get close. And as if startled by the sound of his voice, Shadow Wing was suddenly finding his footing again. Stumbling up, he toppled to the side, into the kitchen table. He sent some of the chairs sprawling, his weakened posture seeming to then throw him into the wall.

Dean couldn't stand to watch it anymore, the torture. Raising his hands, he took bodily control of Shadow Wing, holding him down against the wall with the pink glow of his powers. Shadow's back exposed, Dean could feel him struggling, but even with his added strength, he wasn't strong enough. At least, not in that moment.

Eyes quickly surveying the situation, Dean realized what the main problem was, aside from the blood and the torn skin. In comparison to his good wing, Shadow's right appendage was sticking out at an odd angle. Like a shoulder or hip popped out of place, the bone was hanging loose from the socket. Sure, Dean didn't know much about the physical makeup of dudes with wings, but he'd seen enough injuries over the years to be able to diagnosis such a thing.

Pulling his fingers together, Dean focused more of his energy around that protruding bone. Feeling out the structure, and how it might fit back into place, he pursed his lips and quickly decided there was no reason to waste time. Taking a quick breath, he grit his teeth before pushing the force of his power harshly forward. With a crack and an earsplitting screech from Shadow, the wing was snapped back into place. Dean immediately released his hold on Shadow Wing, half-expecting to be attacked. But, even as his scream died down, Shadow Wing failed to move away from the wall. Rather, breathing heavy, he still gripped at it, wings twitching as he did.

Until, as if every part of him was finally giving in, he began to slide down. Toppling back, he started to fall, Dean's eyes bugging as he rushed forward. Feathers and all, Dean caught him before he hit the ground. Covered head lolling to the side, Shadow was limp in Dean's arms, only breathing softly beneath his black suit.

For a moment, Dean didn't know what to do. Rather, he simply stood, trying to comprehend what was happening.

When it finally hit him—that Shadow Wing was unconscious inside his apartment—Dean gulped before making his way to the couch. Feathers dragging on the floor, he set Shadow Wing down on the cushions, doing his best to situate him in a way that would take pressure off his right wing.

Turning away, Dean took the moment needed to shut the balcony door to gather his thoughts.

Shadow Wing was there, had known where to find him. Which meant that he must know he was Morganite, right? Why else would he have shown up at Dean's apartment practically screaming for help? It was the only thing that made any logical sense, even if Shadow Wing seemed to hate him most of the time. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Turning back to the superhero stretched out on his couch, Dean was actually thankful Cas wasn't home. He was a little concerned about his roommate's whereabouts, but he wasn't sure how he'd explain this away.

He wasn't even sure how to explain it to himself.

Approaching the couch again, he tentatively sat down on the coffee table before it. He supposed he could try and wake Shadow Wing up, get him out of there, but that seemed awfully cold. Maybe if he dragged him into his own bedroom, he could hide him from Cas. But what would he do when he woke up? Just let him… fly off? If he could fly at all.

The thought didn't sit well with Dean, especially with the new knowledge that Shadow Wing had to know who he was. No, it didn't matter how much he trusted Shadow in battle or even liked the guy, he couldn't allow himself to be on the losing side of this. Shadow Wing had come to him, after all. The least he could give, then, was his identity.

Swallowing hard, Dean reached out, hesitating for only a second before allowing is hand to slide back the black hood hovering above Shadow's covered face. Once that was out of the way, he gently gripped the top of his mask and, with his breath held tightly in his chest, tugged it up.

Coming up, it revealed the face beneath.

A familiar face.

Eyes widening, Dean gaped. "Cas…" he breathed out, watching as his roommate's head fell lightly to the side. That sharp profile and jagged jaw. Dark hair and those bags that always seemed to be lingering under his eyes. It couldn't be anyone else.

Which was when Dean figured it out.

Shadow Wing hadn't been coming to  _him_. He'd been coming  _home_.


	2. Flight Paths Home: Part 2

As someone who rarely required sleep, waking up from such was generally more challenging for Cas than it likely was for other people. He was unaccustomed to the sensation, and if he was asleep, it was usually because something had happened to him that had drained him of all his energy—which made waking up even  _more_  difficult.

As it were, he'd been trying to open his eyes for nearly half an hour, his lids seeming to weigh thousands of pounds in comparison to his typical strength. It wasn't until he finally managed to crack them a slit—light filtering quickly in—that his brain began to fully function. Initially, his thoughts zeroed in on the pain throbbing up from his back. Which then allowed for more coherency as to  _why_  it was happening.

The night before was mostly a blur, Cas's hand coming up to rub down his face as a soft groan escaped his throat. He remembered the attack, and then falling. He'd landed in a street, and somehow he'd managed to get airborne again. His wing had hardly been in working order, and it was only through sheer determination that he'd gotten home.

That was when his memory really started to fall apart. He'd been so relieved to be at his apartment that he'd given up any semblance of control. Yet something must have happened. He was in his bedroom, or so his slowly focusing eyes were telling him. Lying facedown on his bed, he could feel where the wrinkles of his pillowcase had indented into his skin.

But how had he gotten there…?

The question seemed to recall to him a kind of phantom pain, one that caused him to cringe as a few snippets flashed through his head. He'd come in through the balcony. Dean had been there. Dean had tried to help him and then…

Nothing. He didn't remember.

 _Dean_ …

Eyes blinking suddenly wide, Cas ran his hand down his face again, horrified to realize his mask was removed. He could feel that he was still in the rest of his suit, but his head was uncovered.

Dean must have removed his mask.

The idea sent his heart plummeting into his stomach, Cas turning to rub his face into the pillow as another groan was muffled against the cotton. Someone had found out his real identity. His most closely guarded secret—something that could put others in danger.

As if instigated by the way he moved his neck, a zinging pain ricocheted up from Cas's wing base, a hiss leaving his lips as he froze. He could feel the injured bone and skin, muscle too. Swollen and severely bruised, his injury sat on his back in a puffy clump, strained and tense and hurting the more he focused on it. There was no way he could retract his wings then, not with such an injury. He'd end up looking like a hunchback.

Pausing to take a deep breath in preparation, Cas pushed his hands down on the mattress before forcing himself to sit up. His whole back tore with pain, but he gritted his teeth and persevered. As he sat up, legs pushing over the edge of the mattress, he tried to raise his injured wing, but the agony was too excruciating to try very hard. Yet, in the same moment, the weight of his wing was harm in itself, as if it wanted to pull right out of his back. It'd be worse when he stood, he realized. He'd have to get help tying it up—like a sling.

Shoulders slumping with a sigh, Cas pushed himself to his feet. His body felt nauseated and shaky, but he managed to hold his bearings. One wing folded up and the other dragging on the floor, he carefully began to slide his suit from his arms, the top unsnapping from around his neck before he shimmied it down his body. Until he was in only his briefs, at which point he pulled a pair of blue striped slacks from his dresser and slipped them on.

He'd just have to be shirtless till his wings could be retracted again.

Already more pained from such simple movements than he had been when he'd woken up, Cas took a deep breath and considered just flopping back down on his bed and going back to sleep. But logic reiterated the fact that the longer his wing was simply left limp, the more painful the injury would continue to be.

Shuffling across the hardwood floor to his sliding door, he paused for just a moment before pushing it to the side. He'd have to wake up Dean.

Unless, of course, Dean was already awake.

As if startled by the sound of Cas's door, Dean shot up from where he'd been sitting on the couch. He was holding a magazine, green eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he surveyed Cas standing in the doorway. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They blinked, taking each other in. Cas knew his face was probably flushed, and his embarrassment over the whole situation made it difficult to find anything to say.

Thankfully, Dean cut in before things grew exponentially awkward.

"Wow," he breathed. "You look terrible."

Typical Dean.

"Thanks," Cas rasped, finally finding the gumption to exit the room fully. He saw Dean's eyes go a little wider at the sight of his wings, which were quite large and made ruffling noises as they slid across the doorframe. It was even more embarrassing to him, having someone seeing him so underdressed with the appendages exposed. It'd never happened before.

"Seriously, you should go back and rest." Dean found his voice again as Cas slowly made his way toward the kitchen table. He didn't know that his skin was a pasty pale color, or that the bags under his eyes were much deeper than usual. But Dean saw it all, the fact that Cas had wings at all being the least of his concerns, even if such did draw his attention.

"I probably will." Cas coughed once, sitting sideways in one of the dining chairs so the back wouldn't press against his wings. "But I'm hungry, and I need to call into work." He was already late.

"I called and told them you were sick." Dean dropped his magazine to the coffee table before practically jogging around the couch into the kitchen. Cas watched him, uncomfortable with his overly eager attitude. "What do you want to eat?"

"I can get it."

"Cas,  _really_?" Dean cocked a single eyebrow, which only caused Cas's cheeks to flush even more.

"A bowl of raisin bran would be fine," he grumbled out, staring down at the table. He didn't see the way Dean narrowed his eyes, thoughtful, and was only looking back up once Dean was making himself busy in the kitchen. He said nothing as the cereal was poured, the milk too, and felt strange beginning to eat when Dean set the bowl and spoon in front of him. Especially when Dean sat down in the chair across from him, as if to watch his every move.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Cas muttered out before finally taking a bite of the cereal.

"Right, because I'm going to be able to sleep after last night." Dean finally touched on the subject, Cas yet again refusing to look up. "Speaking of sleep," Dean leaned forward, his hands clasping on the table, "when do you sleep?"

Cas finally managed to look up, taking Dean's meaning. After all, if he was Shadow Wing, then he spent nights patrolling and days working.

"I don't require sleep," he explained. "Only when I've overexerted myself or been injured does my body require rest."

"Amazing." Dean was gaping at him like he was some kind of caged animal, Cas pursing his lips. "No wonder I never figured it out."

"Yeah…" Cas stared back down at his cereal, his discomfort finally seeming to register in Dean.

"Look, Cas, about this whole thing." Dean cleared his throat, but Cas cut in before he could continue.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept this to yourself," he stated strictly. "For my security and your safety. A civilian with my identity is a target for danger."

"Ci-civilian?" Dean sputtered out, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Right. Uh, what,  _exactly_ , do you remember about last night?"

"Not much."

"Right…" Dean tapped his fingers on the table. "So… I won't tell anyone, I promise. I get the whole 'civilian in danger' thing." He cleared his throat. "Shadow Wing though, huh? That's gotta be pretty great." Glancing up, Cas's clearly un-amused look wiped his smile from his face. "Well, I mean, you don't  _normally_  come home this beat to shit."

Cas sighed.

"Seriously though, I never would have guessed." Dean was being totally honest. "I mean, Castiel Novak. Wearer of frumpy sweaters, baggy kakis, and black-rimmed glasses. Actually a muscly superhero with wings and super strength. I'm impressed."

Cas pursed his lips. Again.

"It's all a little Clark Kent though, don't you think? Although that whole flower shop job does throw a guy off."

Cas dropped his spoon back into his bowl. "Are you done?"

"Shadow Wing Cas is sassy." Dean waggled his eyebrows, smiling brightly, and Cas huffed. Despite his outward irritation, however, Dean was managing to charm him just as much as usual. And though Cas tried to fight it, a small part of him was fluttering with excitement. Because Dean knew who he really was, and even if it was dangerous, it was also kind of relieving.

"I told you Shadow Wing was my favorite though," Dean continued on, clearly excited, and Cas bit the inside of his cheek. "It's hard to believe I've been living with him this whole time."

"You want an autograph or something?" Cas returned to his cereal.

"So much sass! Where's the meek, little Cas I used to know?"

"I was never 'meek.'" Cas rolled his eyes. "Or little."

"I almost feel cheated." Dean placed his hand on his chest. "Like the roommate I've had all this time is someone I never actually knew."

"I'm still the same person." Cas felt his cheeks flush again, unsure what to think of Dean's attention. "Do you not like me the way I am as Cas or something?" It slipped out before he could stop it, more redness splashing over his face.

"What?" Dean furrowed his brows. "No, that's not what I'm saying. I just… I dunno. It's just a bit of a shock, I guess. I mean, I don't have too many friends, and I know we were never… super close or anything, but it just seems surprising. That you, flower guy who likes to go to the park to watch bees, also beats the crap out of people by night."

"I have a duty to humanity," Cas said strictly, his voice colder than he'd intended. "Shadow Wing is my obligation. I assure you, I much prefer to watch the bees."

"Wait," Dean waved his hands, "are you saying you don't  _like_  being Shadow Wing?"

Cas allowed his lips to crack a small smile. "Of course I like it. But having the luxury of enjoying one's job doesn't make it any more than that—a job."

"Huh…" Dean was trying to comprehend. "You know, just because you have some extra stuff other people don't, doesn't mean you have to use it as an 'obligation.'"

"Perhaps I phrased that poorly," Cas corrected. "I have gifts that humans do not. Abilities that, I think, should be utilized. Humanity is something I've come to… love… and I have no desire to see it plundered by the follies that exist within itself. I have my own weaknesses, certainly, but if I might get in the way of others', then I think I can live with my differences." With being an outcast despite his desire not to be.

"I… never thought of it that way," Dean muttered, Cas's words still bouncing around in his head. Because he didn't  _totally_  understand. "So… by the way you're talking, you seem to think you're not… human… What are you, an alien?"

Cas chuckled lightly. "Dean, I have wings, I don't sleep, I have 'super strength,' and intensified senses." Among other things Dean didn't need to know about. "Does that sound particularly human to you?"

"Well, I get that." Dean leaned back in his chair. "But Morganite and Emerald have special abilities too." He wanted to add that he was "pretty sure they weren't aliens," but was afraid that'd be giving away too much. Nobody knew that Morganite and Emerald had two dead parents, both of which had had slight supernatural powers. And that, for some reason, together, they'd produced sons with hundreds of times those abilities. Still, they were human, or seemingly so.

Cas's blue eyes flitted to the window, as if he were considering Dean's point. "I can't vouch for those two," he eventually started, "but I have little else to think on the matter. I have no parents, no family. I woke up as a young child in outlandish clothes with my angel blade and innate knowledge of how to hide my wings, but no memories. There is no one else like me—no human with such a different makeup. Despite their skills, Morganite and Emerald appear to be biologically human. I am not. Obviously so."

"You don't…" Dean tried to ignore the way his chest ached. "You don't have any family?"

"Not that I know of." He shrugged, flinching as he did.

"So you've been on your own since you were a kid?"

"It could have been worse." Cas smiled again.

"Yeah." Dean nodded, a bitter grin lacing his lips. "I get that." The way he said as much made it clear to Cas that he wasn't just being sympathetic. He was hinting at actual understanding, which caused Cas's head to cock curiously. It took him a moment, but Dean eventually noticed, a short laugh leaving his throat. "My parents were killed when I was a kid. So it was just me and my little brother. Still kinda is."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He flashed a dazzling smile, though it seemed far more forced than usual. "I know there's stuff out there,  _things_  that aren't always so nice. Which is why I like you superheroes so much, maybe. You're out there, trying to keep that shit back, you know? Even if it doesn't always go the way you plan, you're doing your best. And I think that's worth something. Maybe."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas was reaching out before he could stop himself, his hand shadowing Dean's own on the table before he even realized it'd happened. Part of him panicked, thinking he'd made a move he shouldn't have, but his logic quickly took over. Physical contact could be comforting. That was all it had to be. He just had to keep timing in mind. "I appreciate you saying that," he continued, even through Dean's surprise. "Really." He squeezed Dean's hand then, but just for a moment before pulling back. He changed it into something platonic, or something that could hopefully be read that way.

His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

Dean was blinking, but if he'd been surprised by the touch, he covered it as quickly as Cas had.

"No problem." He nodded. "You guys get beat up all the time. Least people can do is appreciate it. Speaking of which," Dean's eyebrows rose in a knowing fashion, "shouldn't you be heading back to bed? You said it yourself you were going to."

"Yes, you're right. But I…" He stared up at Dean almost tentatively. "I require your assistance."

"Okay." Dean didn't even second-guess the idea, looking once again like an eager puppy.

"My wing, it's- I can't lift it. But I can't have it dragging either. There are some large bandages in my bedroom, on the top shelf of my closet. I need someone-" he sighed. "I need  _you_  to get them and help me strap up my wing."

"Like a sling."

"Yes, sort of."

"Sure thing." Dean was on his feet in seconds. "Be right back."

Normally Cas would be hesitant about allowing anyone in his room when he wasn't in there, but the cat was already out of the bag as far as Dean was concerned, so he saw little point in being worried. Dean returned shortly after besides, carrying five large bandage wraps. He set them on the table, Cas scooting the chair back as he tried to consider the best way to go about the whole thing.

"I can't-" he strained to lift his wing, but the pain it caused was making him sweat before he'd even folded it halfway.

"Don't hurt yourself, Cas," Dean practically reprimanded, hovering rather close. "Just let me." He looked about to reach out for Cas's wing, but then paused at the last second, his eyes flicking up to meet the way Cas was looking at him over his shoulder. "Is it alright if I…?"

"Yes, it's fine," Cas assured quickly, already preparing himself for the inevitable agony. It didn't occur to him that, before that moment, no one besides himself has touched his wings before. He was too preoccupied with trying to remain relaxed.

Dean, on the other hand, had to force himself to quit hesitating, his jaw tight as he reached out and took hold of the top of Cas's wing. He'd never really considered what the appendage would actually feel like—he'd only ever entertained the idea of being able to touch it in the first place. But perhaps he should have expected the firm muscle that was set beneath the soft feathers, and the way warmth seeped up into his fingers. Like any limb, Cas's wing was pumping with life.

Grip steady, Dean gritted his teeth and started to fold Cas's wing up toward his back. He could feel the way the muscles flexed, and as he pressed, a shiver echoed up the feathers and skin. Eyes flicking to Cas's back, Dean could see the way his back was straining, and how the skin around the base of the wing was reddening. It was swollen, and folding the wing up was putting too much pressure on the injury.

He heard splintering, Dean stepping up and looking over Cas's shoulder to see that he was gripping the table, the wood cracking beneath his nails.

Cas's shoulders were bulging against the pain.

For a fleeting moment, Dean considered his own powers. How much easier it'd be for him to take all the pressure off Cas's wing and wrap the bandages with a mere flick of his wrist. But, biting his lip, he found that fear surged up in him at the same time, Cas's words echoing in his head.

" _He's just… arrogant. Nothing about him seems real._ "

As it would turn out, Cas's evaluation of Morganite was more significant than Dean had realized. Their previous conversation set Dean on edge and he was ashamed that, as a result, he was allowing his personal feelings to cloud his judgments. And, therefore, alter his actions. But what would Cas think if he knew who Morganite really was?

What would that make him think of "Dean?"

"Cas, we should stop," Dean murmured, torn between Cas's apparent agony and his own paranoia. "You can't take this."

He got no response, Cas's entire concentration seeming to be focused on dealing with the pain. Even as Dean watched, he saw sweat beginning to accumulate all over Cas's body, some of it dribbling g down his back.

"I'm letting your wing back down, alright?" Dean said tentatively, careful as he slowly unfolded Cas's wing again. As he did, Cas's whole form seemed to deflate, his shoulders dropping. Dean could practically see the way his injury was throbbing, and wanted desperately to do something. He considered his own powers once again, but then shook the idea away.

And was even more ashamed of himself.

"Maybe we should… get a doctor or something…"

Cas's head whipped around faster than he'd ever seen it. And the look in his eyes—that narrowed blue. He stared up at Dean with a kind of alarmed disgust that nearly caused Dean to back up a step.

"I can't do that," Cas said, his tone even and low. "The more people that know who I am, the more danger they're in. The more danger I'm in." His whole chest was huffing, as if he was still recovering from the previous attempt on his wing, and Dean glanced to the floor.

"You're right, sorry," Dean muttered, feeling more and more torn by the moment. And as Cas turned away, he was nearly on the verge of revealing who he was, if only to help. But then Cas was sighing, and trying to stand. His arms were shaking, and he hissed, Dean bolting forward to help.

"Don't," Cas muttered when Dean went to grab him. "I'm going back to my room." Dean didn't budge however, clearly intent on doing something. "If you want to help, pick up my wing so it quits pulling on my back." The flatness in his tone didn't get by Dean, even as he did what he could to help.

They said nothing as they marched toward Cas's room, the silence becoming almost stuffy. Not that Dean didn't understand why. He hadn't meant to suggest anything that would put Cas off. But he should have known better. He had the luxury of Sam, and of his doctor girlfriend, Jessica. Yet, he didn't want his identity revealed any more beyond that. He understood the threats, and dangers. Cas—Shadow Wing—was probably pretty nervous about the fact that his "civilian" roommate had found out his secret. And Dean wasn't making him feel any better by suggesting things like "telling doctors."

Helping as best he could, he held out Cas's wing as he slowly lowered himself chest down onto the mattress. Pulling over his rolling desk chair, Dean placed it beside the bed, using it as a prop to support the weight of the busted wing. Hopefully that would help relieve some of the pressure on Cas's back.

"Thanks," Cas muttered, closing his eyes as he took forcefully deep breaths.

Dean loitered by the bed a moment longer, rubbing the back of his neck, before ultimately deciding to speak again. "Look, Cas," he started, those blue eyes slitting open just barely. "I didn't mean anything by what I said. I'm not going to tell anyone about who you are, I swear. I was just… concerned, that's all." He wanted to say more—that he had a safe doctor Cas could go to, that he could provide him secure help—but the words wouldn't come. Rather, his brain kept zipping back to their conversation from a few days before. About Cas's opinions on Morganite.

"It's alright, Dean," Cas assured, voice raspy. "I trust you." A claim that caused Dean's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "You don't need to worry, though. I'll be alright in a day or two."

"A day or two?" Dean asked skeptically, a small smile pulling at Cas's lips.

"Sure. Another benefit of being me." His implication was clear, Dean finding himself rather jealous. He could do with accelerated recovery time—Wolverine magic. But he didn't say as much. Instead, supposing that Cas needed his rest, he flashed a small smile of his own before heading out of the bedroom. He closed Cas's door behind him, pausing for only a moment before heading across the room to the couch.

Once there, he grabbed his phone off the table and dialed Sam.

"What's up?" was the immediate response he got, Dean sighing as he settled into the couch cushions.

"He woke up," he replied rather flatly, Sam's silence hinting that he wanted more details. Because, really, how could he have  _not_  told Sam? There was a difference between revealing secrets to anyone and then telling his super-powered brother/partner. "He's in pretty bad shape, but he doesn't seem too concerned about it. Something about hyper-healing, I guess."

"Then Jessica doesn't need to come by?" Because Dean had already put them on standby. He'd almost invited them over while Cas had still been asleep, but then thought better of it. He'd monitored Cas's health instead, and was thankful that he'd taken the more modest route.

"I guess not," Dean verified. "He sleeping again now, but said he should be up and around in a few days."

"Wow!" Because Dean had painted a pretty grisly image of the injuries Cas had dropped in with.

"Dude, he doesn't usually even sleep," Dean started in then. "Only when he's been injured or overly exhausted. That's why I never figured it out." Unlike Dean, who was dependent on his brother and Jessica for income. Dean didn't work, not outside his superhero duties, and the only reason Sam was able to earn anything was because he could sleep and operate in online web design company at the same time, lucky bastard.

"What about his wings?"

"Oh, I didn't ask yet." Because he clearly had some way in which he was able to hide them.

"What'd he say about you?"

"About me?"

"Yeah, about you being, well, you."

Dean didn't have an immediate response. Rather, pooching his lips, he let the silence stretch until Sam started to get suspicious.

"…Dean…?"

"I didn't tell him," Dean admitted, his voice coming out rather rushed. "He doesn't remember that I had to use my powers to help him last night and thinks I'm a civilian." He was clearly ashamed of the fact, mostly because his reasons for hiding it were selfish, and he knew that trying to hide as much from Sam was probably a useless endeavor.

"Oh. But I thought you were excited that you could tell him. Dean, you've been flirting with him for years." A fact they were both far too aware of. Dean had spent many hours after they'd come in from the streets complaining about his advances constantly being brushed off by Shadow Wing. Granted, it could just be that Shadow wasn't interested in men, but as he'd never gotten onto a personal conversation with the other hero—and therefore couldn't know—Dean had just kept trying.

And trying. And  _trying_.

"You don't understand, Sam," Dean explained. "Cas doesn't like Morganite."

"What?"

"He told me so. We were watching the news one morning, when I happened to be on it, and he said he thought I was an arrogant showoff that enjoyed too much attention."

"Oh…"

"Yeah. Exactly." Cas not liking Morganite had turned out to be a much bigger deal than it'd seemed the few days before.

"But he likes you, doesn't he? As in 'Dean' you, right? You guys have lived together for five years. He wouldn't have kept you around if he couldn't stand you."

"That's what I was thinking, until I really  _got_  to thinking." Dean sighed. "The whole reason us living together works so well is because we stay out of each other's business. It doesn't matter whether we like each other or not." It was half the reason Dean had stayed with Cas, too. He never pried, he never snooped. And he never asked questions. Guess now he knew why.

"If he really couldn't stand you, he'd have gotten a new roommate anyway. He at least tolerates you."

"Gee, thanks." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well, what about you? You finally know who Shadow Wing is. Maybe you don't want to be with him after all."

"Why wouldn't I want to be?" Dean let his hand drop to the end table beside the couch, his fingers trailing around a coaster. "Cas is fucking adorable. I mean, a badass apparently, but adorable."

"You've never seemed interested in him before…?"

"Yeah, because I always thought he was a soft little flower boy that needed to be protected from lifestyles like mine. Not some boss-ass angel man with a sword and secret sass."

"Secret sass?"

"Shadow Wing Cas is very sassy."

He could hear Sam sighing on the other end. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. The only way to really know how he feels about you is to tell him the truth. You finally have his real identity, which you've always bothered him about. Seems like kind of a waste to stop trying now."

"Easy for you to say," Dean said miserably. "He'll probably hate me as Dean too, after he finds out."

Sam's silence seemed to imply that he didn't know what else to say on the matter. Not that he didn't have any sympathy, but Dean had been griping over Shadow Wing for years and the subject had been talked out many, many times before. And even with this new development, there was only so much to add. Sam could give Dean all the advice he had, but that didn't mean his older brother was going to be brave enough to take it.

As a result of their tussle with Crowley's Hell Hounds (as Dean had fondly begun to call the smoke dogs), Dean spent a majority of the next few days in his apartment. His arm was still messed up and Sam was bruised all over. The city would just have to fend for itself for a little while.

That, and the fact that Cas slept for a day and half straight kept Dean in a constant state of paranoid worry. Every few hours, he was going into Cas's bedroom just to make sure he was still breathing. And every time, he found him in the exact same position as before. Facedown, wing on the chair, eyes closed. He slept silently, hardly moving, and it struck Dean as being more of a recovery coma than actual sleep. The only thing about him that changed at all was the state of his injury. Every time Dean walked in, it was a little less red, a little less swollen. Until, finally, one could hardly tell there'd ever been anything wrong. The only evidence was the missing feathers, little seed-like protrusions existing on the limb where they'd once been (Dean had kind of wanted to touch the baby feathers, but ultimately decided that probably wouldn't be a good idea).

He waited, and kept a keen eye. Yet, still, Cas managed to surprise him when he finally got up, coming into the main part of the apartment without making a single sound.

"Hello, Dean." His gravelly voice had jolted Dean out of his stupor, causing him to spring to his feet before turning. He'd been watching Doctor Sexy, his favorite sitcom, and a secret interest he'd tried to keep to himself.

"Cas!" Dean gasped out. "You're up. And… better." He was standing straight, his complexion his typical tanned smoothness. There was no hunch to his posture, and no pain to his movements. But, most shockingly, he was wingless. "What- what happened to your…?"

"I'm able to conceal them." Cas stated the obvious, Dean's furrowed brows encouraging him to continue. "I can retract them, when they're in working order." Not the most in-depth explanation, but Dean didn't push the subject. He had no guarantees that Cas really trusted him, and he didn't want to push his luck. Rather, he was just relieved he was alright, and made sure to voice as much. "Thank you," Cas replied quietly, his focus flicking to the floor as he made his way toward their old refrigerator. He was wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants, and appeared far too casual considering what had recently transpired.

Sensing awkwardness between them, Dean made a point of sitting down again and switching the channel to something else upon remembering what he'd been watching. Cas eventually joined him, taking the single sofa chair. With a bowl of cereal, he pulled his feet up, his knees folded as he sat sideways in order to see the screen.

It was an innocent pose, one that hardly portrayed dangerous, killing machine, and for a moment Dean wondered if he hadn't made the whole thing up. Because Cas was just so quiet, and nerdy, and was very good at making himself look small in oversized clothing.

But then those blue eyes flicked his way and Dean could tell by their heaviness that he hadn't imagined it. And that Cas was aware of his staring.

"Like you can really blame me," Dean remarked, Cas pursing his lips. "You're Shadow Wing. Not like I can help it." Cas rolled his eyes at that, lips pursing as he looked back at the television.

"I thought you were watching Dr. Sexy."

Dean knew the comment was purposeful, the fact that Cas had figured out his television habits making him rather self-conscious. But, no. He wasn't going to fall for that. Cas thought he was so clever. Just to spite him, Dean flipped the channel back, but refused to take his eyes off his roommate.

"What's it like?" he asked abruptly.

"What?"

"You know what." Not that he didn't have a fair idea himself, but that was quite beside the point.

"You're not going to stop asking until I answer, are you?" He said it with a sense of knowing, Dean smiling far too brightly in response. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Being a superhero!" Dean replied, leaning forward in his seat. "Being famous! Being adored! Working with Morganite and Emerald! C'mon, spill the beans."

Cas was giving him a skeptical look halfway through, pretending that he wasn't amused by Dean's enthusiasm. There was a small smile on his face though, which told Dean otherwise. A smile that, all of a sudden, was putting butterflies in Dean's stomach. Who knew Shadow Wing would be so damn adorable. Or gorgeous.

Whoa, he needed to slow down; this was still Cas.

"It's really not all that exciting," Cas replied. "I mean, I don't do interviews, I don't… get on the television." Not like Morganite did. "And no one knows who I am, so it's not like I've got 'adoring fans' following me around."

"You have one, at least," Dean corrected, pointing to himself rather dramatically. Cas rolled his eyes again. "Well, what about Morganite and Emerald? You know them, right? Do you know who they are? Do you have secret Superhero meetings in dark caves or old warehouses? Do you meet on rooftops and exchange witty retorts before going off to save innocents?"

"You're ridiculous," Cas decided. "And no. I don't know Morganite and Emerald, not personally anyway. I don't know their identities and we don't have secret meetings. Although," he was moderately thoughtful for a moment, "we do meet in the air sometimes. Usually it's Morganite that's talking, though. He talks a lot."

"Oh… he does?" Dean hadn't been aware of the fact.

"I think he mostly just does it to annoy me." Cas frowned, spooning more cereal into his mouth.

"Annoy you? Really?" It was hard for Dean to hide his own doubt, but he managed. Mostly because "Shadow Wing" usually had no problem getting salty back at him whenever they chatted, lying dork.

"He's very obnoxious," Cas replied, Dean's shoulders dropping. "He's always got something to say, as if everything we happen to do together warrants some kind of finale conversation."

"Maybe he just likes talking to you."

"Why?" Cas's question was so serious, and so oblivious, that Dean was speechless in being able to justify himself. "Contraire to how the media paints us, we don't actually team up all the time. I wouldn't even go so far as to say we were friends."

"Wow, what a let down…" Dean muttered.

"My apologies." Cas shrugged. "I prefer to work alone. It's easier to stay hidden. Emerald is pretty inconspicuous, but Morganite glows everywhere he goes. Doesn't exactly mesh with the way I operate."

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't…" The conversation was not going well. Not that Dean had expected it to, but he also hadn't anticipated that it'd go this badly. As far as Cas was concerned—Shadow Wing—he was a basically a giant glow stick that made a constant racket. Perfect.

"I'm sorry," Cas said abruptly, Dean turning to look up at him. "I know you're fond of them. I didn't mean to paint anyone in any kind of negative light. Neither Morganite nor Emerald are deserving of that kind of critique. They do a lot of good, and are both selfless in their work. They are well-deserving of the title 'hero.'"

Cas's words were nice, and it was good to know he didn't all out hate him, but neutral praise was far different than personal, and Dean was still left in a state of empty satisfaction. Sulking, he stared back at the television with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Not what you expected?" Cas asked, attributing Dean's downed mood to disappointed hopes of a different kind. "I've never excelled at telling anecdotes."

"It's not that," Dean clarified, going quiet again.

Cas cleared his throat. "What about you?" he asked, attempting to change the subject. "Did you talk to that girl?"

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't feel the same way," Dean said flatly.

"Oh…" The awkwardness had returned full force, Dean having no interest in alleviating the weight. Instead, once he'd finished his breakfast, Cas stood, dumped his bowl in the sink, and shut himself up in the bathroom. Dean remained staring at the television, even when Cas reemerged twenty minutes later. They didn't say anything to each other, which really wasn't that out of the ordinary. But with everything that had happened hanging between them, it made what would be a typical morning into something bloated and awkward.

Yet, neither pursued the subject. Rather, dressed and ready for the day, Cas paused just by the front door as he was preparing to leave.

"I'm going to work," he announced, uncertain if there was some other action he was supposed to take after everything that had happened There was a weight of expectation, but neither knew what to do with it. So, like usual, Dean simply waved from the couch and offered a simple farewell, forcefully ignoring the urge to look back.

That was life, right? They had to move on, even if Dean was plagued by thoughts of Cas, and Shadow Wing, for the rest of the day. He was constantly shifting between excitement and apprehension, which made it very difficult to sleep. By the time four-thirty rolled around, he's only managed to accrue four hours of fitful rest.

He considered waiting for Cas to come back—to watch him lift off into the night, if that was what he planned to do. But their morning conversation still hung heavy and so he ultimately decided that it was better if he made himself scarce. He didn't want to face Cas, not after being so thoroughly rejected, and so he put on his suit and headed out into the afternoon.

As usual, he made his way discreetly to Sam and Jess's apartment, waiting in uniform while his brother readied himself as well.

"Is Shadow Wing going out tonight?" Sam asked, to which Dean gave no reply.

They headed out into the city as the sun was beginning to set.

It was a quiet evening, at least in comparison to the last time they'd been in uniform. Thankfully, Crowley hadn't made any apparent moves while they were out for the count. Instead, Sam spent the hours sensing out petty crime that they quickly took care of before returning to their rooftop perches. Sometimes Sam would try to bring up Cas, but Dean refused to entertain him.

Rather, as the night wore on, Dean could feel his chest tightening, his doubts taking over. Like a slow fall to an eventual broken heart.

Which he knew was stupid. Strictly speaking, he'd barely known Shadow Wing. And he really didn't know Cas all that well either. Maybe he'd had his expectations up too high. It'd be too easy, that he could simply find someone like himself, someone safe (as safe as their lifestyle could be). Someone he didn't have to worry about. Someone that was as selfless, graceful, intelligent, and incredible as Shadow Wing.

He'd been kidding himself. It was time to face reality.

"There's a break-in happening three streets over." Sam's words filtered through Dean's head, his hands and feet aglow as he nodded and took off in that direction. Sam followed, subtle as ever, directing him telepathically until he was dropping down atop the roof of the steepled house. Swinging down over the edge of the gutters, he sprang in through the already shattered window, coming to a grinding halt once he'd touched down.

He was just in time to watch Shadows Wing toss a figure dressed in stereotypical black into the left wall.

A family of five cowered in the right corner, another man in black gesturing a gun from the left, where his accomplice had been knocked out. A second later, the gun was firing, Dean only catching a glimpse of the way Shadow Wing went to dodge before he was raising his hand.

Igniting the room with a vague pink, he directed his power forward, finding the bullet before it could touch down. It hovered, still and glowing, only inches from Shadow Wing's shoulder.

There was a pause—a silence just long enough to take a breath—where everyone in the room took in the situation. But Dean was fast, and quick on his feet. With a flick of his finger, he sent the bullet back the way it'd come, straight through the thigh of the man who'd shot it.

The robber screamed, dropping his gun as he reached down to grip his leg. Within the same second, his whole body froze, twitched, and collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Sam's doing, from wherever he was hiding.

Both knowing their work was finished, Dean and Shadow Wing headed back out the window, the family just beginning to creep out from the corner as police sirens echoed nearby.

Zipping up, all three heroes eventually landed on the nearest multistory building. Not tall, but enough to keep them hidden from the houses below.

Dean glared at Sam as he approached from the shadows.

" _You could have told me was there!_ " he mentally shouted.

" _I can't read his mind._ "

" _You could read the minds of the guys fighting him!_ "

Sam didn't bother giving a response to that.

"Than you." Shadow Wing's voice drew their attention. "You didn't have to stop that bullet, but I appreciate that you did."

"You probably would have dodged it," Dean replied after clearing his throat, his gaze falling to the rooftop. He could practically feel the way Sam was rolling his eyes beside him.

"Probably," Shadow Wing replied, some of Dean's abrupt shyness trickling away as he glanced up with pursed lips (not that anyone could tell). "The effort is still appreciated." It was unnerving to Dean, suddenly knowing that voice. How had he not figured it out before? The gravelly roughness. It had Cas all over it.

"Sure." They all knew that, normally, Dean would have been teasing Shadow Wing over the incident, giving him witty one-liners and probably hovering far too close. And the fact that he didn't, that his eyes eventually fell back to the rooftop, made the attitude between them sufficiently awkward.

Shadow Wing cleared his own throat through the silence. "Well… I'm going to go." He nodded once, as if to say farewell, before turning. He was readying himself to take off, legs bending just slightly as his wings fanned out.

And, despite himself, Dean glanced up again. He took in that familiar figure, abruptly feeling as though this might be the last time he'd see him. Or, perhaps, the last time he'd allow himself the luxury of considering what he knew wasn't to be.

" _Why don't you try being direct?_ " Cas's words echoed in his head.

"Wait!" Dean called abruptly, reaching out despite himself. Oh god, what was he doing? Someone stop him! Sam! Oh no, this was bad.

His brother didn't so much as twitch, however.

Turning again, Shadow's wings swept over the rooftop, the black cloth covering his expressions not making this any easier for Dean. Not that he should be doing what he was doing in the first place. But if there was any way to really know the truth, to actually know for certain, this was it.

This was his last chance—his last try.

"Look, uh," Dean sputtered, taking a few steps forward as he tried to string a few bumbling words together. He was usually so much smoother—when he was able to hide behind wit and jokes and distance. For all his exploits, he wasn't accustomed to putting himself in such a vulnerable position. "I know we don't really, like, know each other that well… or anything. I mean, we work together and everything, and, like, we fly around sometimes or whatever-

" _Get on with it, Dean!_ " Sam.

"What I'm trying to say is-" Dean gulped. "Well, I was wondering if you'd want to, I dunno, maybe grab something to eat sometime, or something." There was a pause, Dean watching with jumping nerves as Shadow Wing slowly cocked his head curiously to the side. The move was so "Cas" it was incredible.

"And I know that you're really sensitive about revealing your identity, which is totally cool. We could go as Morganite and Shadow Wing. I mean, I guess that's kind of weird. But we could lift some food from somewhere or something. Not like we aren't owed a free meal or any-"

"Are you asking me out?" The words were blurted, sufficiently silencing Dean with there bluntness. Which resulted in a heavy silence as Dean tried to come up with something to say.

"Uh, well…" That  _was_  what he was doing, wasn't it? "I… Yeah, I guess I am." Dean's hands flexed at his sides.

Shadow Wing's head actually cocked to the other side then, his weight shifting from one leg to the other as he stared Dean down. If he tried hard enough, Dean could imagine the way those eyebrows were probably furrowed, and how those blue eyes had narrowed.

"…Why…?" Was Shadow Wing's million-dollar question.

Dean wanted to die of humiliation.

"Because I… I like… you." He really was dealing with Cas.

The silence that kept punctuating the conversation hinted at how Shadow Wing was processing the information, Dean eventually taking a shaky breath and pinging a small pink marble nervously between his fingers.

"Uh, look," Shadow Wing finally started, "I'm… flattered."

It was over. Dean knew it and he closed his eyes, trying to hold in the cascading disappointment. At least until the rejection was over.

"I had no idea you… felt that way." Clearly. "But I…"

 _I don't like you. You're annoying. You glow and you talk too much_. Dean could hear it all, repeating over and over again in his head.

"There's… someone else," Shadow Wing eventually explained,  _lied_ , and Dean felt even worse for it. Because he was trying to be nice and Dean had reduced him to false claims in order to do so. He felt even more pathetic, if at all possible.

"Oh…" Dean said lamely, gaze falling downward.

"I'm sorry, Morganite," Shadow Wing went on, backing up a step as he did. "Really." As if he was just as mortified as Dean, or perhaps mortified on his behalf, he swung his wings around and lifted off, as though trying to escape.

As if Dean's question had been so repulsive that he'd had to get away.

Sinking down into a crouch, Dean gulped. He said nothing; Sam said nothing.

Rather, as light rain began to drop from clouds, his heart was allowed to crack in continual silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review guys! Really, I appreciate it and read every single one :)


	3. Flight Paths Home: Part 3

Cas was still a little shocked, were he being totally honest. This didn't, however, overshadow how bad he felt. He knew that, logically, he'd made it as painless as possible. Rip the band-aid off quick, or so he'd heard, was the best way to go. He felt a little cowardly for flying off right after, but what would have been the point of staying? That certainly wouldn't have been any comfort to Morganite.

Morganite, who Cas had always thought got some kind of sick joy out of bothering him. But, as he looked back, he was beginning to realize that maybe he'd been a little mistaken. True, he still stood by the notion that Morganite did, indeed, like teasing him, but maybe it'd all been in a different attitude than he'd originally thought. It'd just never crossed his mind that Morganite would feel that way about him, mostly because he couldn't imagine that anyone would feel that way about him.

But he'd done the right thing. It would have been cruel to give Morganite a chance, especially when Cas knew his heart wouldn't be totally in it. Not when his feelings were so preoccupied with someone else.

Even if he'd never have that someone.

As if on cue with his thoughts, the front door slid open, grinding on its metal rails. Turning, Cas watched as Dean stepped inside, looking tired and rather out of sorts. Grumpier than usual, the door practically slammed as he pulled it closed behind him. Cas frowned. Still, he looked Dean up and down as he always did, surveying for injuries. There were none, Dean's nightly "job" having gone easy on him.

Cas tried not to focus on that.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas said in his typical fashion.

Pausing in his march across the apartment, Dean slowly turned his head to look at him, green eyes flashing. Cas was actually taken aback by the expression, eyebrows furrowing, which only seemed to anger Dean further. Teeth bared, he scowled, appearing more spiteful than Cas ever would have imagined possible.

"Dean?"

"Don't talk to me," he spat, Cas actually flinching back, gaping. Whipping around, Dean stalked across the apartment toward his room, Cas barely able to pull himself together before Dean would, no doubt, close himself up in his bedroom.

"Dean, wait!" Cas said, vaulting over the back of the chair as he headed across the apartment. "What's wrong? Did something happen?" He almost reached out to Dean, but thought better of it upon seeing the way the other man had paused outside his door. Stiff, he said nothing, not immediately.

Rather, Cas watching with growing concern, his back began to shake. Until he was laughing. No, it wasn't a laugh, not  _Dean's_  laugh. It was more like a cackle—a bitter, angry cackle.

"Dean…?"

He whipped around, lips spread wide in what was probably the sourest smile Cas had ever seen. Nasty, and dripping with disdain.

"Fuck you, Cas," he finally said.

Cas blinked, finding his own voice through his shock when it looked as though Dean was going to turn away from him again. "What the hell? What's going on?"

"Why do you care?!" Dean practically shouted, Cas almost flinching back. Instead, his shock faded to confused irritation, blue eyes narrowing as he pursed his lips. "Since when do we talk about shit? We don't! Good for you and you're super powers, whoop-de-fuckin'-do! Doesn't mean we're suddenly friends!"

"You're the one that came in pissed off and yelling at me, Dean. Forgive me for being concerned."

"Concerned?!" More of that manic laughter, which Cas was beginning to hate. "You don't have the right to be concerned, alright?! So fuck off and don't talk to me!"

"Dean!" But it didn't matter. He'd turned away. Whisked his way into his bedroom and slammed the door closed, Cas left standing outside. For a moment, he did nothing, only able to blink as he tried to digest what had just happened. Yet, no matter how he thought about it, he couldn't comprehend. Instead, stepping forward, he found himself knocking on Dean's door.

"Dean," he said, the firmness in his voice weakening. "Dean!" No response.

Finally beginning to feel the hurt through his waning irritation, Cas wavered in knocking again, ultimately deciding that perhaps he shouldn't. Dean was having a bad day, that was all. It didn't have anything to do with what had happened lately, or who Cas really was. He was selfish for thinking as much.

Besides, he had to go to work.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring how it shook in his chest, Cas turned and headed directly out the door. He consoled himself on his bike ride to the flower shop with rational objections. Dean wasn't really angry with him. It was something else. Something completely separate from Cas.

Yet, as the day wore on, his self-conscious insecurities, as well as his ignorance of Dean's job, started to get the better of him. He tried to distract himself with arranging flowers and replanting until his fingers were stained with dirt, but it didn't keep anything at bay.

What if, now that Dean knew who he really was, he was beginning to see how much of a threat to him Cas could be? If Dean really was involved with the illegal dealings Cas had always assumed he was, then certainly living with a superhero wasn't in his best interests. Or, worse, what if Cas had encountered him the night before? He didn't pay any attention to the identities of the crooks he took out. He simply did his job and was on his way. What if Dean had been one of them? What if that was the whole problem?

By the time he and his coworkers were closing up shop, Cas was so tightly wound that he couldn't think of anything else but Dean. And what he'd done to offend him. He came back up to their apartment with strict steps and tight lips, immediately skirting into his bedroom and beginning to slip on his uniform. He didn't want to face Dean, didn't want to deal with whatever it was that had suddenly put a wedge between them, and was kind of hoping that if he just ignored it, things would go back to normal. That Dean really had just had a bad day and would be back to his usual self the following day.

It was too much to ask for, of course.

"Cas." Dean's voice nearly made him jump as he stepped outside his bedroom door. He was in uniform, wings still hidden and mask in his hand. Before "everything," Cas would have made sure Dean was gone, that he was alone, but it didn't matter anymore. He'd just wanted to be gone himself, before seeing the other man.

"We need to talk."

"What about?" Cas asked, careful to keep his voice neutral as he headed toward the balcony doors. He wasn't aware of the way Dean's eyes watched his every move, taking in his partial identity despite knowing he shouldn't. "I really need to go and-"

"I don't think we should be roommates anymore."

Words that stopped Cas dead in his tracks.

Turning, he couldn't hide the stunned hurt that was etched into his features, Dean looking pointedly away.

"Why?"

"We just can't live together anymore," Dean said straight, tone without any inflection.

Cas gulped, flicking his gaze to the floor as he considered how he should be reacting. Ultimately, he did his best to remain as detached as Dean was. "Does this have something to do with… this?" He gestured down to himself.

"No," Dean said almost too quickly, still refusing to look his way. "It doesn't have anything to do with you. It's me." Yet he offered no other reason, no other defense, and it didn't take a genius to know he was lying. Even Cas could tell, and he was horrible at reading people.

"You don't have to move out," Cas replied. "If it's that much of an issue, I can go. But, you should know that…" Cas gulped, "that whatever it is you do, it doesn't matter to me." This did draw Dean's gaze, though Cas refused to face it. "I don't know what it is you do for a living, but if it's something illegal, I won't interfere."

"Cas…"

"And I'm sorry if I already have. All you have to do is tell me what you're doing and I'll stay out of it."

"Why would you say that?" Dean's voice was empty, his question clearly about Cas's integrity as a "superhero." After everything he'd said about trying to focus on what was good about humanity, about trying to pick up after their faults, and now he was making an exception?

"I just…" Breath trembling, shoulders hunched, Cas twisted his mask in his hands. "You're the only friend I have, Dean."

His admission didn't garner an immediate response, Cas continuing to remain focused on the floor. He didn't see the way Dean had gaped, or how quickly he'd snapped his mouth shut again. How he'd closed his eyes and ground his teeth.

"That's not fair," Dean eventually muttered out, voice constrained. "You can't say that."

"It's true. I-"

"Goddammit, Cas! You can't do this! I'm not- You're- You don't understand! I can't stay here!"

"Why?!"

"Because I just can't! It's too… I have to leave, alright? I just do!"

"Why are you lying?"

"Why is it any of your business?" Dean's words did cause Cas to flinch back then, his posture defensive. "We barely know each other. We're not even friends, really. So… that's it!"

"Dean…"

"That's  _it_!" He said it with a sense of finality, willing to take no further objections, and Cas found that he didn't have it in him to argue. This was far worse than anything he'd anticipated having to deal with. So much thrown at him all at once. He couldn't deal with it—didn't know how. He'd spent so much time being careful, hiding his feelings so as to keep things the way they were. Safe. Secure. Comfortable. And all of that was being pulled out from under him.

He was tipping, what little connection he'd had to anyone slipping through his fingers. He didn't want to go back there—to that life, alone, with no one. Sure, maybe he and Dean hadn't been close, but it'd been  _something_ , and become so important to Cas over the years. Dean was all he had. Add in the feelings he'd tried to warn himself from forming and it was just too much.

Get away! That was what his brain told him Run! Don't look back! Just keep moving forward like he always had been. Because if he dared look back, then he dared to regret, and that only lead to despair.

How many years had he spent that way, alone. He didn't want it, not again.

 _Run_!

Pulling his mask over his head, Cas flipped his hood up before pulling open the balcony doors. Vaulting up onto the railing, he jumped, not giving himself the chance to feel the fall. Wings bursting forth, he shot up into the sky, eyes narrowed as he pushed on. As he used all his self-control not to look back.

 _Never_  look back.

But this wasn't a normal battle—this wasn't simple thugs and crooks. This was crippling in a different kind of way, worse than his wing or any other physical blow he'd suffered. It was heavy, and took the wind out of his wings until he was stumbling down atop one of the tallest downtown buildings. Lurching, he fell to his knees, hands catching him on the roof as he breathed deeply in and out. His wings drooped at his sides, lifeless, and his senses were so clogged that he couldn't hear anything beyond his own heartbeat.

He hadn't wanted to feel this. That was why he'd kept his distance. But it hadn't worked. And now he was paying the consequences.

The time he spent, stranded, atop that roof was a fleeting moment to him. All he could think about was what he'd done wrong, what he could have done better. But it was endless circles, his back leaning against the lip of the building as he stared blankly at the dimming sky. A sky that was eventually all darkness. And isolation.

 _Again_.

Had he been more himself, and not drowning, he might have heard it. The sound of soft footsteps approaching. But he didn't. Even as a voice spoke, he hardly paid it any mind.

It was only when a hand was set gently on his shoulder that he finally looked up.

"Are you alright?"

Emerald.

Which meant Morganite probably wasn't far.

"I'm fine," Cas said flatly, once more looking straight ahead. "Just… thinking."

"Oh…"

"I'm fine, really. You can go. Morganite would probably rather not be around me anyway." Because if there'd been any friendship between them, he'd destroyed that too.

"Morganite's working alone tonight," Emerald explained. "Said he 'doesn't want me around, picking through his head.'"

Cas supposed he was probably to blame for that too. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Emerald crouched down beside him. "Morganite's a pissy princess when he's in a bad mood. I wouldn't want to read his thoughts anyway. Or deal with his sulking all night. Although, to be honest, you don't look like you're any better off."

"It's nothing. You need not concern yourself."

"Look, Shadow, I get that we're not buddy-buddy or anything, but we've been working together for years. I'd say that kind of makes of pseudo-friends, at the very least." Cas did look up then, somewhat surprised. Because such words coming from Emerald, who hardly ever teased and was usually the serious one of the two, seemed to mean a whole lot more than when Morganite had said similar.

"Even after I rejected your brother?"

"Morganite's an idiot." Emerald waved the comment off, shifting his lanky body until he was sitting beside Cas against the lip of the building. "Besides, not like you weren't straight with him. He'll get over it."

"I wasn't completely 'straight' with him," he admitted, not entirely sure why. Maybe Emerald was doing some kind of manipulative mind trick, or maybe it was just nice to have someone to talk to. A friend, as he'd said. "There is nobody else."

"Just not into men?"

Cas snorted. "It's not that. I have feelings for someone else and it wouldn't have been fair to him to have accepted such a proposal. Not when I wanted someone different."

Emerald was nodding. "It's not because you hate him?"

"What?" Cas glanced over despite only being privy to a mask. "No. He's kind of obnoxious, but I don't hate him."

"Oh. He's under the impression that you hate him."

"I don't hate him," Cas repeated. "He's charming, I suppose, in his own way." Cas's eyebrows twitched beneath his mask. "Actually, I think that's part of the reason I find him irritating. He reminds me too much of someone else." It hadn't occurred to Cas until that moment, how similar Morganite and Dean actually were—at least in their senses of humor. Probably because he'd never entertained Morganite as a romantic interest before.

"Who?" Emerald's curiosity sounded innocent enough. Too innocent, maybe.

"My roommate," Cas admitted despite himself. Emerald couldn't read his mind, but he had to be doing  _something_. Not that Cas particularly minded. "Ex-roommate, I guess."

"Really?" Emerald actually sounded surprised.

"Yeah. He's moving out."

"And that's why you're upset?"

"I'm upset because he won't tell me why. And because…" He wasn't sure he could say it out loud. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to, even to someone other than Dean.

"You have feelings for him, your roommate," Emerald deduced. "That's why you rejected Morganite." Cas didn't have to say anything to verify the truth of the words. Emerald, however, "hmphed," seeming displeased. "You two are idiots."

Cas looked over, alarmed. "Excuse me?"

"You two are idiots," he repeated, which didn't help explain anything any better. "You and Dean. You're both ridiculous." Not understanding, Cas went to question again—this time somewhat offended—but couldn't upon witnessing Emerald pulling at his mask. Until it'd been removed completely, revealing a young man with pointed features, shaggy brown hair, and kind, brown-green eyes.

"Castiel, right?" Emerald asked, holding out his hand, which Cas shook after a moment of shocked hesitation. "Sam Winchester. Dean is my older brother."

"Your…?"

"Morganite's my older brother too," he continued. "I only have one older brother."

It took a moment for Cas's brain to make the connection, to really understand what he was saying. But when he finally managed it, the realization hit him like a semi (which would be pretty rough, even for him). Blinking, he glanced quickly away, brain buzzing. Because, really, he should have known. The voice, how he'd moved, his schedule, something. But what would have been the odds? That they'd be living together and not even realize it?

It was ridiculous, in more ways than one.

"Dean is Morganite," Cas finally managed to sputter out. "Dean is…"

"He's obsessed with you," Sam—Emerald—cut in. "He's been flirting with you for years, but was always too afraid to ask you out. Until recently. Mostly because he was desperate." Because he thought Cas hated him.

"Oh god," Cas muttered, reaching up to message the bridge of his nose. "No wonder he was so upset this morning." Dean has asked him out and he'd said no! He really was an idiot. How had he not known?

"Yeah, he-"

Before anymore could be said on the subject, they were interrupted. Jumping to their feet, they turned swiftly around, peering out across the city to where a bright flash had ignited the night sky. The building beneath them had shaken, the flash only part of an explosion that was ripping one of the taller buildings downtown apart. Already Cas and Emerald could see the way the supports were breaking, both of them only taking seconds to digest the scene before they were off.

Wings spreading, Cas pushed himself off hard, leaving an indent in the roof as he flew toward the wreckage. He could see people running beneath him, screaming out. Cas, however, was far more preoccupied with what might still be inside the building.

" _There's no one inside!_ " Emerald's projected thoughts hit him, calming his most immediate fear. He didn't know where Emerald was, but it hardly mattered. Rather, he had to keep the building from collapsing long enough for the people down below to get away.

The explosion had occurred on a corner, which meant the whole thing was tipping in that direction. Folding his wings in against his body, Cas stretched out toward it, eyes narrowed as he skidded onto one of the folding ledges beneath where the damage had been down. Avoiding the debris and ignoring how dust filtered in through his mask, he then shot up, wings flapping determinedly as he pushed up against the collapsing corner of the building. He put all his strength against the main support, gritting his teeth as his whole body tensed. He wouldn't be able to hold it for long, but even a few seconds could be the difference between saving a life and letting it be crushed. He hoped that Emerald was working on getting all the people clear, if he could.

Straining, Cas felt his arms and abs bulging, his breathing labored as he flapped his wings harder. He could feel the upper parts of the structure collapsing above him, hammering more and more weight down. But what was below him still had some standing power, so he just had to be the support that was blown away. Just a little longer.

He didn't know for how long, but until he knew. Until there was a sign. Until-

" _Get out of there, Shadow Wing! The people are clear! Morganite's going to put up a shield!_ "

Taking Emerald's words as that sign, Cas pulled in a deep breath before, with a cry as the pressure left him, dropping away from the building. Wings spinning, he shot out, heading in any direction that equated to "away." Below him, he caught a glimpse of something pink shooting up from the ground, but it was behind him before he could register it fully.

Blinking away the dust, he flapped out, skidding to a halt on his toes before whipping around. He was on another roof, one nearby. Breathing hard, he watched as the pink shield shot up to dome the building, completed just as the entire thing came crashing to the ground. Like a wave, dust and debris filled the forcefield with a looming cloud, one that eventually engulfed the entire scene until the dome was only able to be perceived as a gray mass erupting from the city streets.

Glancing around quickly, Cas's keen senses were able to locate the source of it. Glowing to match the dome, Morganite was hovering a few streets over, his hands out before him as he held the shield together against the force of the collapse. Or tried to.

Even from this distance, Cas could see the way his arms were straining, how his hands were shaking. It was a lot of distance to cover, a lot to contain, and a long period to do so. He wouldn't hold out much longer.

Shaking the dust from his wings, Cas lifted off before back-flipping against the nearby brick wall. Thighs and calves coiling, he set his feet flat against the brick before shoving forcefully off.

Just as that pink was beginning to fade.

Wings folded, he shot out into the sky. Toward Morganite, who wasn't glowing anymore. The shield around the building vanished, the dust lifted free to roll through the city. Toward them, likely able to block out any and all visibility.

Teeth gritted, Cas reached out. He kept his eyes focused on Morganite, even as he began to fall backward. He pushed himself on, until that pink and silver suit was within reach. Until he was wrapping his arms around Morganite's waist, bulleting through the air.

Wings flaring, Cas held tight, only able to stop some of his momentum as he rolled onto a nearby rooftop. He kept Morganite held to him, however, doing whatever he could to lessen any of the damage that would be done as a result of the rough tumble from the sky.

They came to a sliding stop within but a few seconds, Cas glancing up only quickly enough to see the cloud coming toward them. Bending over Morganite, he shielded his head as best he could, closing his own eyes as they were engulfed.

The air was hot, stifling even, and barely breathable. Cas coughed, feeling the way his lungs were begging for air—for something more than dust and filth.

They were too close. They'd suffocate if they didn't get away.

Gulping down his own pain, Cas pulled Morganite up by the shoulders. Trying to hold back his coughing, he spread his wings against the gust of dust and flapped. Determined and glaring upward, he searched for sky. Waited for it.

Aimed for it until they were soaring up out of the cloud, into the safety of the night sky.

Coughing and gasping for breath, Cas kept a firm hold under Morganite's arms, looking for anywhere he could land. Not because Morganite was heavy, but because he feared his attempts to save him were already too late.

Rooftops were their havens. Heading to the top of one of the tallest in the entire city, he landed with a little less grace than usual before setting Morganite gently down atop the hardened tar.

His mask was full of dust and he couldn't see as clearly as he wanted. Pushing his hood back, he ripped it off, blinking as he looked Morganite up and down.

There were bloodspots on his mask, around the area where his nose should be as well as leaking down from the general area of his ears.

"Is he alive?" Emerald was there, beside them, before Cas could even process the question. Reaching out, Emerald laid his fingertips against Morganite's throat, checking for a pulse. "He's alive," her verified, seeming to be saying it more for his own sake than anything else. "He'll be alright. He just used too much energy." Reaching down, Emerald rolled Morganite's mask up just enough to reveal his mouth, so as he might be able to breathe through the dust that had likely clogged up in it.

Cas tried not to focus on the familiarity of those lips.

"I managed to zero in on them," Emerald started a second later, drawing Cas's attention. He was streaked in dust as well, but not as coated as Cas and Morganite were. "The ones behind the explosion. They vanished underground. Crowley was with them. I'd know his thought waves anywhere."

"You know where they're going?"

"Not exactly, they were being careful about controlling their thoughts, but they must have had some kind of tunnel to escape through beneath the building. If we go now, we might be able to catch up with them."

It wasn't even a question.

"He'll be fine here?" Cas asked, forcefully ignoring the concern he had for the unconscious Morganite.

"I think so."

"Then let's go."

Nodding, Emerald stood with him, the both of them running to the edge of the building. The dust hadn't had much time to dissipate, but Cas was ready for it this time.

"Stay close to me, since you can't read my thoughts!" Cas shouted as he vaulted from the building. Using his wings to push him, he headed directly into the wreckage, making sure to hold his breath as he was once again engulfed in the slowly thinning cloud. Pulling his angel blade from his belt, he gripped it tightly before swinging it forward. With both his strength as well as the blade, he blasted through the debris, sending it flying as he surged for the ground. He held back once he'd managed to blast his way into the basement. Standing at the bottom floor, he flipped the blade around so as to be able to slam it down hard against the concrete floor. Already cracking and about to collapse, it didn't take much to cause it to fall in entirely, the fact that it did at all proving that there was more beneath the building than should have been.

Diving in with the floor, Cas used his blade to clear a momentary path, one that would last just long enough to get through. Shooting forward into the darkened tunnel, he landed and turned, just in time for Emerald to come up beside him and the debris to collapse in behind them. It shut out the light, both of them looking away so as to avoid the dust that came billowing in as a result.

Silence.

" _This isn't the sewers,_ " Emerald projected after a moment, conscious to be as quiet as possible. " _But I can sense people further down. We're not close enough for me to make out their thoughts, but they're definitely there._ "

Cas nodded, knowing full well that though he could hear Emerald's thoughts, the other man couldn't hear his. Angel blade in hand, he gestured Emerald behind him before continuing on. It was dark, but not too dark for Cas's senses. Easily able to make his way though the tunnel, he eventually lead them to a single metal door some ten minutes of swift walking from where they'd come in.

" _They're in there,_ " Emerald supplied.

Nodding, Cas didn't even bother with trying to figure out a way to actually open the door. Rather, he stuck his angel blade up along the right seam, slicing the hinges before forcefully kicking it open. Not supported by anything more than a lock on the other side, the whole thing fell in with a loud bang, alerting everyone inside to their presence.

" _I thought you were subtle?_ "

"When I want to be," Cas replied out loud.

There were guns pointed at them from every angle, sufficiently surrounding them. But none in the room were able to even consider pulling them. With only a simple nod from Emerald, every figure in the room twitched before collapsing, the sounds of firearms clanking against concrete echoing from one side of the warehouse to the other.

Because that's what it was. Stacked with boxes, there were only small aisle ways between them, florescent lights hanging from the I-beams woven through the ceiling.

"Now, now, boys, that's a bit unnecessary, don't you think?"

Crowley, who was apparently the only one able to fight off Emerald's abilities.

"You've ruined a perfectly good door," he gestured behind them as he stepped over a few of the bodies of his fallen underlings, "and knocked out my entire workforce. How am I ever going to get anything done now?"

"What's in these boxes?" Emerald hissed out before Cas could respond. "I can sense something. What is it?" Glancing over, Cas took in Emerald's stiff posture, it appearing almost aggressive. Which was not normal for Emerald.

"Ah, yes, that." Crowley smiled. "I thought you might be able to sense them once you were close enough, hence I've been very careful to keep all my shipments out of your reach. Unfortunately, an experiment gone wrong in my lab lured you both here. I wasn't exactly planning for that." His voice had taken a bitter turn.

" _What's_  in the  _boxes?_!" Emerald growled.

"My, my, you really do want to know. Well, I would never hide such a thing from you, Moose." Not seeming the least bit fazed by their presence, Crowley made his way over to the nearest crate. With a flick of his wrist, he popped the top. Gesturing with one finger, a single glass vial floated up out of it until he had it in hand.

He turned back to them. "This," he held up the vial, which was glowing a bright, bright blue, "is a  _human soul_."

A reveal that left both Cas and Emerald silent. Blinking, Cas gaped, his expression open to them all, before he looked quickly across the whole warehouse. Stacks and stacks of crates, all of them filled with hundreds of vials.

"All of this?" he managed to get out. "Human souls?"

"That is correct." Crowley twirled the vial between his fingers lazily. "I know, shocking. For one, that humans even have souls, and, for two, that it'd even be possible to harvest them. But, then again, I pride myself on accomplishing the impossible."

"How did you get this many?" Emerald asked.

"Oh, just being in the right place at the right time."

"Or creating the right place at the right time," Cas snarled.

"Please, even if I did organize a few mass killings around the world, it's not that difficult to know which governments are going to bomb who and where. It really is easier than you'd think, but I suppose expecting your simple minds to understand is probably still too much."

"What are you doing with them?" Emerald again, his voice echoing of distress. Because, even if they hadn't known humans had souls before, the idea of someone abusing such a thing was absolutely horrifying.

"Me? Well, that's really none of your business, is it? Let's just say I'm… trying to create an alternative energy source, one that's superior to anything that's been conjured up so far." More of that smiling. "Just think of it as a sort of recycling."

"You're a monster," Cas hissed.

"Me? Please, at least I have a soul." He chuckled. "Someone like you? You're hardly being fair in calling me a monster. You're not even human. At least I was… once."

"What are you talking about?" Cas snapped.

"You! Being a soulless invader from another planet. Parading around like some kind of superhero. Please, I think we both know the truth. You don't belong here, Sparkles." He turned his attention to Emerald, continuing before Cas could question further. "You, on the other hand, well, fully human as far as I can tell. In fact, I've been trying to devise a plan to get ahold of you and your brother's souls for some time now. After all, with powers as you both posses, it'd certainly be a powerhouse of a harvest.

"Maybe, actually, your finding this place is fortuitous on my part. Squirrel isn't here, and I have just the thing to put Angel here against the wall." Before either could react, he was reaching into his pocket. Cas went for his angel blade, surging forward, but he wasn't fast enough. As though splashing water from his fingers, he sent out what appeared to be tiny, shiny blue shards. They caught on Cas's arms, legs, torso, wings. And even through his clothes, he could feel them burning. Within moments it was stinging into his skin, hot irons all over his body.

So hot that his entire form collapsed involuntarily, spasming atop the floor as he tried to fight it. But the pain only grew worse, like there were tiny bullets slowly burrowing under his skin, shocking him all over. Like his whole body was on fire, burning all around him.

He didn't know he was screaming, or even aware when his screams turned into blood-curdling shrieks. Similar, perhaps, to the inhuman screech he'd released when his wing had been ripped apart, only this was so, so much worse. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He didn't know anything but the agony, and the white fire in his eyes.

There was nothing to compare it to, and no way to escape.

"What the hell is that?!" Emerald shouted.

"Just Lot's Salt!" Crowley had to yell back.

"STOP! You're killing him!"

"That's the idea! The sooner that squawking ends, the better!"

Emerald was headed to Cas, to pick the stones out of his skin and clothes and wings, but even as he tried to move forward, his whole body locked up. He pushed against it, his muscles straining under his skin, but he couldn't. He was locked in place.

"No so fast," Crowley muttered, not needing to be heard over Cas's screams. "I said I wanted something from you." Eyes going red, he slowly turned the hand he had held up in Emerald's direction, as though opening a door. And as he did, Emerald's eyes began to glow a bright blue through his mask. Until the light was shooting out in all directions, igniting the room.

But Crowley was hardly affected. Stare hungry, he pulled the power toward him, luring it from the bottoms of Emerald's feet up all the way through his body. Until a blue wisp was beginning to leak from his mouth, through his mask. His body was limp, suspended by Crowley's own power, and soon it'd be cold altogether. Motionless, once his soul was free of it.

Or so Morganite was assuming.

Uncaring of his own condition, he pulled up a pink spear, one large and sharp enough to burst through the ground overtop the warehouse. The roof fell in atop them, Morganite only aware enough to put protective shields over the two familiar bodies inside before he reached down for the silver blade left abandoned on the ground.

Crowley had fallen back at his entrance, having lost his concentration, but he saw Dean coming. He saw the flash of the angel blade and heard Dean's outrage as he howled, running for him.

And as the blade punctured his chest, Crowley became a plume of red smoke, slithering out his own mouth before the power of the blade could undo him completely.

He escaped, but Morganite could hardly bring himself to care. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling where he'd come in, but none of the debris had hit either Sam or Cas, thanks to his own quick thinking.

Rushing over, he crouched down beside Sam, who was on all fours, coughing and hacking. Before Dean could ask if he was alright, however, he was gesturing toward Cas.

Cas, who was still writhing on the ground, screeching.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked, mask removed as he yanked Sam's free as well.

"Stones!" Sam gasped out. "Get them! Tiny stones!"

Surging forward, Dean slid down beside Cas, easily seeing the tiny blue daggers. Only their tops were submerged, but it was clearly enough to do damage. Cas's eyes were rolled back, and he was foaming at the mouth. His whole body was seizing, the sight almost too much for Dean to take. Raising his hands, his eyes darted to each and every stone he could spot, pink webbing its way between them. Until he had as many as he could find. With a simple twitch, he lifted the stones free before tossing them as far across the room as he could.

Upon their removal, Cas's shrieking grew momentarily louder, but as soon as they were gone, he was silent.

Still.

"Shadow!" Dean shouted, taking him roughly by the shoulders. "Shadow Wing! Cas!  _Cas_!"

"He's not breathing," Sam said, having crouched on Cas's other side. "Does he need to breathe? Do you know, does he have to?"

"I don't know!" Dean replied, beginning to panic. "Cas! C'mon! You can't die! You  _don't_  die!" He shook him roughly by the shoulders, as if that would do anything. "I need you!"

Nothing.

"No!" Dean's shaking grew weaker, his hands beginning to tremble as he gripped at Cas's bare shoulders. Beside him, Sam was pale, leaning back some as he stared helplessly at the limp body.

Dean's breath was trembling, growing choppy, but he didn't care. Even as the tears fell freely, streaking down his cheeks, he couldn't be bothered with it. Because Cas wasn't breathing, and if he had a heart, it wasn't beating. His wings were slumped, and his whole body was lifeless.

Gone. He was gone.

"No…" Dean continued to murmur, sniffing as he slowly leaned his forehead down against Cas's chest. "N-no, please…" But no amount of begging made a difference—no matter how he asked, nothing changed. He'd been too late, and the only thing that kept flashing through his thoughts were Cas's expression when they'd argued—how hurt and confused he'd been. How betrayed.

And how alone.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, sobs wracking his whole body. "I'm  _so_   _sorry_."

He'd failed Cas—in every way imaginable.

Maybe it was the grief—the sheer loss—that warped Dean's power, that let it come springing out of him as a terrible sob wracked his whole body. It sprang across the entire room, wood and glass no match. Crates came tumbling down around them, vials shattering either as a result of the fall or because they'd come in contact with Dean's distorted agony.

All across the warehouse, blue flashes charred the concrete floor, leaving only small plumes of smoke in their wake. Expiring souls, moving on upon being freed.

Sam looked back to Cas's limp body. Cas, who, according to Crowley, hadn't had a soul.

What did that mean?

"Dean," Sam choked out against his own tears. "Dean, we have to get out of here. The police are coming." He put a shaky hand on his brother's back. "We have t-to go." But Dean couldn't hear him. " _Dean!_ " he shouted into his head. " _We have to go! Now!_ "

Their grieving would have to wait.

Pulling himself away, Dean was shaking, hardly able to breathe. But he dared not let go of Cas. Slipping his arms up just behind his wings and under his knees, Dean stood, pausing for just a moment to grit his teeth and close his eyes.

Control.

Finding what little strength he had left, he directed his power, taking off through the hole he'd originally come through. Cas's wings fluttering in the wind as they headed higher and higher, Dean eventually landed atop the same building he'd woken up on, Sam stepping down close beside him.

But that was it. Dean was done.

Slowly, if only because he was holding Cas's body, he lowered himself to his knees before falling back and pulling Cas up into his lap. Cradling him in his arms, Dean situated him until his head was laid against his shoulder, wings sprawled out around them. Sam sat down beside him, exhausted and defeated as he slouched. His eyes were empty, red, and still lined with tears.

Pulling Cas's limp body to him, Dean's control seeped away, leaving him a broken, beaten, sobbing mess once again. He laid his head against Cas's hair, closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms around Cas's broad shoulders.

Whistling, the wind skimmed over the roof, drying the streaks on their cheeks for only a moment before the paths were overtaken again.

Police sirens echoed below them—the world carried on, but they remained. Just two, once again alone in their own world.

Once again isolated from others who understood, by grief and loss.

Rocking some, Dean cried into Cas's hair, Sam's forehead leaning against the back of Cas's shoulder as he pressed his hands into the wings laid out on either side of him.

They were the only one's that had known who he really was, that had known him in any sense of the word, and so they were the only ones capable of truly mourning for him. The world would feel his loss, but not as they did.

Not as Dean did. Dean, who'd seen his shy smiles every day, and teased him over his strange tastes in food when they'd gone to the grocery store. Who'd bickered with him over the news and depended on him to sew him up when Jess had been too busy with Sam. Who'd sometimes seen him on Saturday's in the park, simply sitting before the flowers, saying and doing nothing. Harmless. Fragile. Gentle.

Just watching the bees.

Dean wished, then—more than ever—that he'd sat and watched them with him, if only to get a better understanding of why he'd loved this world, and humanity, as much as he had. Even when it was humanity that was always hurting him, using him, and that had ultimately ended his life.

Ripped it away as if it were nothing.

Cheek on his forehead, nose in his hair, Dean tried to stay in those memories—what few of them he had. He was haunted by the words exchanged between them last, and he wished, more than anything, that he could take it all back. That he could simply tell the truth. But regrets didn't change the past, he knew that, and so there was no point in dwelling on them. He couldn't bring Cas back.

Nothing could. Except, maybe—

A single breath.

As if the life had been rushed back into him, Cas's entire body swelled, Dean and Sam both watching with wide, shocked eyes. His wings lifted slightly, his chest rose, and his lips parted. He breathed deeply, as though it was the last breath he'd ever take. Or, perhaps, the first. Because his chest continued in a steady up and down, the warmth coming from between his lips splashing across Dean's face.

"C-Cas?" Dean sputtered, pulling away just enough to get a better look at him.

Gradually, his eyelids began to shift, lifting only enough for a slit of blue to be visible.

He gulped, his breath shuddering only a little as he found soft, cracked words.

"Dean?"

"Oh my god," Dean choked out, his hand coming up to push some of Cas's loose hair away from his eyes. "You're alive. You're breathing. You're  _alive_." Dean pressed his forehead to Cas's. "I thought you were dead."

Cas's lips pulled up just a little, the smallest of smiles. "No. Just… needed to heal my lungs… is all."

"Son of a bitch," Dean murmured. "You r-really are incredible."

Cas expelled a swift breath, a laugh maybe, had he managed the energy.

"Dean," he started again, after a second.

"Yeah, I'm here," Dean assured, leaning back again.

"I want…" Cas closed his eyes. "I wanna go  _home_."

Dean smiled, nodding through his tears.

"Okay. Let's go home."

**oOo**

Cas knew he'd been asleep a long time, when he finally managed to get his eyes open. The sunlight was blinding, and he was pretty certain he was sunk completely into his mattress. But he knew from the feel that it was his bed, and from the smell that it was his room.

And as he finally opened his eyes, he knew that the foggy silhouette above him was Dean.

"Finally wakin' up, huh." His voice drifted over Cas's ears like sludge, his senses gradually beginning to pick up speed. "You've been asleep for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Cas muttered, voice like sandpaper. He groaned.

"Yeah. But you were breathing the whole time, so I figured you were alright."

Cas just groaned again, turning his head so he was facing Dean more fully. Beginning to blink, his vision gradually returned at full focus. Dean was sitting in a chair beside the bed, midday sunlight igniting the room behind him. The bright light made Cas a little dizzy, though the sensation passed once he blinked it away.

"You alright?"

"I will be," Cas assured. Pushing up with his hands, he tried to sit up, but found he didn't have the strength. Probably because he was starving. But he'd get to that eventually.

"Here, let me help you." Dean was already leaning over him, hands under his arms as he tugged him up into a sitting position. Taking a deep breath, Cas let it happen, ignoring any discomfort that resulted on his wings—which were smushed beneath him. Not his preferred way of sleeping—especially for two weeks—but he wasn't about to tell Dean that.

"Do you need anything?" Dean asked once he'd sat down again. "Medication, food, anything?"

"I could really use some food," Cas replied despite himself. There were quite a few other things he would have preferred to focus on in those moments, but his stomach was definitely pulling priority.

"Raisin bran?" Dean asked, cracking a smile.

"That's fine." Cas managed a small grin, which only seemed to stretch Dean's further. Raising his hand, it began to glow pink, Cas listening as the refrigerator door opened of it's own accord, cereal, bowl, and spoon clinking together before the sound of poured milk.

Cas cocked a single eyebrow. "Now you're just showing off."

"I do what I can," Dean assured, the pink-glowing bowl floating into the room a few moments later. It was placed lightly in Cas's hands, blue eyes no more amused despite how Dean continued to grin.

At least, until Cas focused down on the food, Dean's expression faltering as Cas lifted the first spoonful.

"Look, uh, Cas." Dean cleared his throat, Cas peering over at him as he slowly chewed. "I know that you only just woke up, so you probably don't want to talk about… stuff. Which is fine, I just-"

"I want to talk about it," Cas interrupted once he'd swallowed. "All of it."

"Oh." Dean took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then, I guess, let me started by apologizing. I should have… I should have told you the truth, after finding out who you really were."

"Yes, you should have," Cas agreed. He hadn't meant to sound scolding, but Dean had glanced down at his lap anyway, fiddling some with his fingers. "It was nerve-wracking, someone finding out my identity. I would have felt a lot better knowing it was you." Morganite, not Dean.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"But I know why you didn't tell me," Cas continued. "And I'm sorry for that. I didn't mean to hurt you." The rejection, and what Dean had taken for insults—rightfully so.

"You don't… really think I'm a glowing chatterbox that goes out of my way to bother you, do you?" His cheeks pinked some.

"No." Cas shook his head, expression soft. "Well, I don't think those first two, in any case. That last one is probably true."

"Maybe a little," Dean grinned again, pinching a little bit of empty air between his thumb and pointer finger. "But… why did you say those things, if that's not how you feel?"

Cas was quiet a moment, trying to find the best way to explain. "I think it was just… defensiveness, because I was frustrated by you." Dean frowned, eyebrows scrunching some. "You reminded me too much of, well, you," Cas released a bitter chuckle. "And it was like, no matter where I went, I couldn't get away from you. And I guess I pinned all the negative things about that on Morganite, and kept all the positive things for Dean."

"You wanted to get away from me?" Dean muttered.

Cas bit his bottom lip, gulping as he slowly lowered his cereal to his lap. He didn't know why his voice choked when he finally did speak, but he couldn't help it. The emotions were just so raw, and he'd never thought he'd ever be in a position to admit them.

"I… didn't think I stood a chance with you," he murmured.

"Cas." Reaching out, Dean laid a hand gently on his arm, Cas slowly finding the courage to look up at him. And when their eyes met, Dean squeezed only a little.

"I…" Cas took a shaky breath. "I might be… a little bit in love with you." Saying it was like lifting the heaviest weight he'd ever felt from his chest, only to pause in baited breath, as though it would fall back down at any second. Searching Dean's calm green eyes, he forced himself to breathe in and out, to grip his cereal bowl to stop himself from trembling.

But Dean didn't leave him to suffer for very long. Rather, leaning forward, he gave Cas only a fraction of a second to realize what he was doing before he was softly pressing his lips to Cas's. Eye closed, he set his other hand on Cas's shoulder, steadying them and waiting patiently for Cas to return his touch.

Which he did, it taking only seconds for any shock to fade away.

The kiss was short, sweet, but they both pulled back needing air. Leaning his forehead against Cas's, Dean smiled again, taking in those deep, blue eyes.

"I might be a little bit in love with you, too," he whispered, Cas finally cracking a full smile as he did. Leaning up into him again, he took Dean's lips with his own, reaching up with one hand to caress Dean's cheek.

His other remained steadying his cereal bowl.

"You need to eat," Dean said, pulling back again.

"I need this  _more_." Pulling Dean back down to him, they lingered once again together, connected.

And there was no objection, or rejection, from either side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave review guys! Really, I read and appreciate every single one :D

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr - DemonDogDean


End file.
